


Badly Timed Boners and A Failure To Communicate

by eeyore9990



Series: Badly Timed Boners [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And THAT is canon, Awkward Boners, Camaros used as phallic symbols, Canon handwavey, F/M, Failtastic courting, First Time, Future Fic, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Poor Bambi, Scent Marking, Stiles vomits in chapter 4, The vomiting is brief, public sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly, Derek is <i>everywhere</i>, and not just in that creepy, Edward Cullen, I'm-gonna-stalk-around-and-lurk-broodingly way.  Stiles doesn't know what's up with that, but he's pretty sure there's only one conclusion to be reached.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>We're all going to fucking die.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're All Going To Die!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I was finally convinced after a year of my beloved Leela being separated from me by fandom lines to watch the preternatural (and sometimes completely fucking illogical) pretty that is Teen Wolf. It took me one week into my three season marathon to start spewing this fic onto my computer...sometime around when Erica was turned in S2, so there's a TON of handwavey going on here. 
> 
> (I have since finished 3A, so all is well, and I will do my best not to fuck too much shit up, but Derek is Alpha still, so...)
> 
> My thanks to Valress for the beta.
> 
> I am stupidly stoked to post this since, even though I posted a different fic earlier this week, this was technically the first one I wrote for TW.
> 
> Uhh, Chapter 2, part of 3, and all of 6 are written. Yes, I write out of order. I'm hoping to keep to a twice a week posting schedule, so. Enjoy!

"Honey, I'm h...hhheeey." Stiles stumbled through Scott's doorway, the weight of his backpack—which had slid off his shoulder and down to rest in the crook of his arm—throwing him slightly off balance. His eyes lingered on where Derek Hale was sitting, oh-so-casually, with one foot propped on the opposite knee as if this were an everyday occurrence. Which it definitely wasn't because usually when Derek decided to visit random Beacon Hills High School students, he showed up silent and stalky at _Stiles'_ house. Stiles tipped his head to the side, staring at Derek as he considered whether or not to feel slighted. Finally, he sketched a sloppy salute and said, "Oh alpha, my alpha. Didn't know you were going to be here, dude. Miss high school civics so much you decided to come study with us?"

Derek unfurrowed his brow by about ten degrees of moodiness, as cheerful a greeting as Stiles ever got from him. Before he could answer (the mere thought of which amused the hell out of Stiles because Derek, using words—el oh el) Scott rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Not that _you_ need to study."

Stiles shrugged, already unzipping his backpack to pull out his book and notes. "Doesn't hurt. Besides, I _do_ need my best friend to pass all his classes so we can freaking graduate together. So stop doodling Mr Allison Argent all over your paper, and let's do this thing."

"Speaking of Allison—"

"No!" Stiles rolled up his civics notes and whapped Scott across the nose, ignoring a muffled laugh from their resident tall, dark, and lurksome. "No Allison until after you know enough of chapter 17 to pass the test on Friday."

"That's actually why I'm here, to speak with Scott about Allison," Derek said, shrugging in a way that would express sheepish apology in anyone actually capable of non-brooding emotions. Which Stiles knew Derek was not. 

But still, if Derek was here to talk to Scott about Allison... Stiles stiffened, head jerking up as if he could scent danger. (Spoiler alert: of the three of them, he was the only one who couldn't.) "What's wrong? What happened to Allison? Shit, I knew I should have brought my laptop." Lunging toward Scott's depressingly outdated desktop, Stiles rolled Derek—who'd been sitting in front of the desk in the only chair in the room—out of the way. "Scott, you still have the bestiary files, right?"

Derek's hand snapped out and latched onto Stiles' wrist before he could press the power button on the tower. "It's fine. She's fine." They both ignored Scott's happy sigh and _yeah, she is_ , Derek even going so far as to rub a thumb soothingly over the rapid pulse in Stiles' wrist. "We're talking about ways he can protect her. In fact...I'm glad you're here. You can help."

Stiles tried to pull his hand back, only to have Derek's loose grip tighten around his wrist. Derek's lips tilted up fractionally on one side, but Stiles stopped him before the snarl could form all the way. "Fine, dude, you've got me. Look, I'm a helpless victim." He flailed his free hand in a sarcastic display of terror. "What now?"

Turning to Scott, Derek's voice took on a lecturing quality as he said, "Obviously, it's not going to matter to everyone, but werewolves, and other creatures with heightened senses, will smell your scent on her and most will back off. Scent at pulse points." Derek lifted Stiles' hand, thumb rubbing firmly over his wrist before he leaned forward and...

Stiles looked wildly around the room, questions forming and falling to wispy bits of nothing in his head as he tried to figure out why exactly Derek was rubbing his cheek scruff against the sensitive skin on the inside of Stiles' elbow. Cheek scruff that was long enough to be soft and wiry and _oh fuck_. Now Derek was snuggling his face into the _hey-it's-a-legitimate-erogenous-zone-don't-look-at-me-like-that-Scott_ crook of Stiles' throat.

Stiles could feel the confusion in his very blood as it all tried to decide whether to go north and flood his cheeks or south to pool in his dick. Hello, really badly timed boner.

Jerking his wrist out of Derek's grasp, Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet on the way out of the room, shouting something horribly garbled over his shoulder about needing to take a piss.

Yeah. Because they'd totally buy that. Jesus fucking _Christ_ , it was bad enough being a teenager with out of control hormones around normal beautiful people, what the fuck had he done wrong in his life to deserve having supernaturally hot people hanging around who could _smell_ his erection before he even had one? 

Slamming the bathroom door behind him, Stiles gripped the edge of the sink and glared down at the really fucking obvious tent in his pants. "Really?!" he hissed at it. " _Now_? You had to do this shit now? That's so fucking inappropriate, you have no idea. Down. Right now. Go. Away." Stiles continued his muttered lecture for several more minutes until his dick deflated enough not to be pushing so obviously against his pants. "Just...seriously," he said, giving it one last meaningful glare, "get ahold of yourself."

That done, he flushed the toilet—gotta maintain a cover story, even when it's laughably obvious to everyone that it _is_ a cover story—and washed his hands before straightening his shoulders and marching back to Scott's room.

Which only contained Scott, flipping starry-eyed through his phone's photo album of Allison doing cute girl things like duck facing at Scott's camera app. Stiles checked the closet just to be sure, but yeah, Derek was nowhere to be seen. 

Thank. Fuck. That shit would have been awkward.

Grabbing the papers that were lying curled on top of Scott's desk where he'd dropped them earlier, Stiles whapped Scott once more before saying, "Studying! We're doing it. Now."

When it looked like Scott was going to say something about the little...event...Stiles stuck a finger in his face. "No. We are not talking about that shit. It never happened."

Scott's open mouth closed on a disgruntled sigh. "It's okay, you know. I get it. You don't have to be—"

"Nooooo!" Stiles flailed his arms. "No! We are not talking about this! God! It's like you want it to be weird. Stop!"

Okay, seriously, the pitying look Scott shot him was sorta out of line. Like he'd never popped an inappropriate boner before or something. So Stiles picked up his book, flipped to the middle and started reading from a random page that was totally _not_ in chapter 17.

v--v

After a three hour crash course in civics—and seriously, where had Scott _been_ all month? Allison wasn't even in their class to distract him to the extent that he had obviously been distracted—Stiles drove home through the darkening streets of Beacon Hills, waving occasionally at people he knew. Turning onto his street, he pulled further to the right to make room for a car that was coming toward him to pass.

It wasn't until the other car was close enough for the headlight haze to dissipate that Stiles realized it was _Derek's_ car. The next few seconds passed much like the slow motion mobster hits in the movies, only with less flying bullets; as Stiles pulled even with Derek, both drivers turned their heads for a long, slow stare-down before they had to face forward again or run the risk of crashing into the cars parked at the sides of the street.

That was weird, right? No, really, that was fucking _strange._ What was Derek even doing here? He knew Stiles was at Scott's studying. And if he was coming to see Stiles, it wasn't like he'd never climbed through Stiles' bedroom window to wait in creepy dark corners like some sort of sparkle-challenged Edward Cullen.

Wait, no, that would make Stiles Bella Swan, and that was not.... Stiles shook his head roughly, pulling into his driveway and killing the engine. His ADHD was fucking him sideways if he was allowing thoughts of Bella Swan and Edward Cullen to distract him from this odd little Derek-shaped mystery.

If Derek was here to visit Stiles, why was he leaving? If he actually was. At that thought, Stiles craned his head around, checking his street. Yeah, no overcompensating black phallic symbol of a muscle car purring at the curb. Derek was really gone.

Man, what the hell? Not that Stiles wanted a reason for Derek to show up—because witches and warlocks and leprechauns were not nearly as awesome as pop culture and breakfast cereals would have us all believe—but at least if the world was about to end for the _n_ th time, Derek's weirdness wouldn't be so weird.

Grabbing his backpack, and then his back when it twinged at the awkward way he twisted while slinging his overloaded bag onto his shoulder, Stiles slid out of his Jeep and jogged up the walk toward the door. Before he could reach for the handle though, the door opened to show his dad standing there, an odd look on his face.

"Hey, Dad," Stiles said, sliding around him to get through the door. "What's going on?"

"Derek Hale was just here," Dad said, his voice a little cracked and—maybe shocked? What the hell?

Stiles chose that moment to start panicking. First talking to Scott about Allison, then talking to Stiles' dad, the freaking _Sheriff_... "Tell it to me straight, Dad. Are we all about to die?"

Finally shutting the door, Dad turned to face him, sort of sagging against the door—which did nothing to alleviate Stiles' panic, oh my god. "We _are_ , aren't we? We're about to die!"

"What?" Dad blinked, and seemed to finally focus on the conversation. Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "Stop being so dramatic. You don't see me freaking out, do you? He just wanted to bring me up to date on...." Dad trailed off, tongue seemingly stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

Stiles relaxed with a full-body sigh. He knew exactly what this was about now. Maybe the awkwardy awkwardness of awkward boners had jarred Derek enough to propel him into bringing Dad into the werewolf information booth of grunted communication. 

Dad chewed on a corner of his bottom lip, studying Stiles for a moment, before trying again. "We talked about," Dad made a gesture which encompassed Stiles and the rest of the foyer, "everything. He wanted to ask me permission, or get my approval, or...blessing? I mean, he never actually phrased it as a question; it actually sounded more like a demand, but..."

"Oh, yeah, can't actually just come out and ask any favors. That's the Derek we all know and love," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "But at least he's talking to you now. I've only been after him for _months_ —"

"So, you're...okay? With this?"

Stiles tilted his head at his dad. He had to realize Stiles had been pressuring Derek to include the department—specifically the Sheriff—in supernatural stuff _before_ supernatural stuff had an opportunity to devolve into flying fur and bloody teeth. "Sure, Dad. I mean, why wouldn't I be? It's gotta be better than not being together on everything, right?"

Dad blinked some more. "Yeah, that's...that's as good a way of looking at it as any, I guess."

"Plus," Stiles said with a shrug, "you'll be safer. And that can only be a good thing."

"Hey, son." Dad grabbed his shoulder, looking at him with Intense Dad Eyes. "Don't do this just for me."

Stiles wrinkled his brow and let out a little laugh. "Well, obviously it's for me too."

"Okay." Dad studied him for another long, uncomfortable moment, then squeezed and let him go. "Okay."

Stiles smiled awkwardly and climbed the stairs to his bedroom before the whole father/son bonding thing could get all emotional. Neither of them did emotional well.

But he would have to remember to thank Derek for this later. As weird as Dad had been about the whole Derek Talk, Stiles could tell he was relieved. And relieved Dad tended to be less shouty.


	2. It's Like A Coffee Shop AU Up In Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I've decided to embrace the AU-ness of this fic. You'll see very vague references to 3A, but nothing major. 
> 
> Also, High School Physics was twenty years ago for me. Please ignore the details of the project, k?

Stiles stood outside the coffee shop, pulling his gaze away from the window as he glanced at his texts again. Or rather, text, singular.

**Meet me for coffee at 9. -D**

He was a few minutes late, having not actually rolled out of bed until 8:35, but he didn't see anyone from the pack so... And then he saw him. Derek was sitting at a small, round table near the back of the shop, half-hidden by a trio of hipsters wearing ironic beanies, scarves, and skinny jeans.

Chuckling, Stiles pulled open the door and went to save Derek from the tragedy of post-modern exchanges of boredom. Sliding into the tiny seat across from Derek, Stiles said, "Hey, where's everyone else?"

Derek stared at him for a brief second before blinking and shrugging. "Still asleep, probably. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Nah, I was awake, just not, you know, _up._ " Running a hand over his hair, Stiles twisted in his seat to see if the line, which had been perilously close to 'out the door' had managed to dwindle any. 

"Here, I got you some sugar." Derek pushed a cardboard cup with one of those ridiculous 'don't burn your hand' rings around it toward Stiles. "I think they even added coffee, but it's hard to tell."

Stiles grinned at him after snatching the coffee and taking a deep drink of the yummy sweetness. "Thanks, man. It's perfect."

Dereks lips shifted upward. It was almost a smile. 

"So, what makes you so eager to see my classically handsome face so early on a Saturday morning? Evil has to sleep sometime, right?" Stiles joked, and then realized with a pang that it wasn't entirely a joke. Seriously, how was this his life?

"I just thought it'd be nice to have some one on one time. We don't get much of that." Derek's gaze dropped to where Stiles was sliding the heat ring up and down on his cup; Derek coughed behind his fist, shifted in his seat, and said, "How's school going?"

Stiles relaxed back in his chair, angling his body so he could stretch his legs out without kicking Derek and said, "Eh, you know, it's good. Lydia's got Valedictorian wrapped up, but I think I've got a good shot at Salutatorian, so. Really, I've just been kinda wiped out with all the extra essays and speeches I have to write for submission to scholarship committees."

"Scholarships?"

"Yeah, I mean, Dad's got money set aside for me, but the more I get in scholarships, the better my choices are and the less stress on him. Plus, I'd kinda like to keep those funds in the bank, you know? If I'm going to waste money trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life, at least I can waste other people's money."

Derek grabbed a napkin and began meticulously shredding it between his fingers. "You don't know what you want to do?"

"I'm thinking criminology, but I don't really know if that's something I'll still want to be involved with in five or ten years. I mean, the last two have been eye-opening, you know?"

Derek stared at the table top for a minute, nodding slowly as if he was processing Stiles' words. Gathering up the pieces of napkin, he stuffed them into his empty drink cup and lobbed the whole thing into a nearby trashcan. Finally, he reached across the table and grabbed Stiles' wrist, the one attached to the hand fiddling with his cup. Wrapping his fingers around Stiles' wrist in a light hold, he said, "I want you to think about letting me help you pay for college. It's not just because of our..." Derek made a sort of hand wavey motion that seemed to include Stiles and the hipsters, which...what? But he went on before Stiles could question him. "I mean, I've told the others this, too. I have plenty of money just sitting in the bank gathering interest. And you're a very important part of the... group." Derek cut a glance at the surrounding patrons sitting within human hearing distance.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Keep your money for your puppies. I won't ever have to take out a loan or anything, so you don't have to worry about me."

"Yeah, I kinda do. That's my job."

And of course he would think that, great big fluffy alpha that he was. "Look, I appreciate it and yeah, I kinda feel like all my mad research skills have entitled me to the Hale Scholarship fund, but." Stiles stared down at Derek's fingers, trying to figure out how to gracefully extract himself from this situation. "Your money...it's your inheritance and the life insurance policies from your family, right?"

Derek froze in his seat, eyes darkening with what was most likely grief before he jerked his chin down in a nod. 

"Derek, listen. I cannot stress enough how much I appreciate the offer. I really do." Stiles covered Derek's hand, sandwiching it between both of his. "But I want you to keep that, okay? You never know..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "You never know when life is going to serve you up a shit sandwich. When Mom... It took a long time. And yeah, we had health insurance and life insurance and all the insurance, but it still..." Stiles looked at a point on the wall behind Derek's head. He didn't talk about Mom, ever, he wasn't even sure why he was doing it now, but somehow he thought Derek needed to understand this. "It took a long time. And it sucked. In every way. Including financially. I don't want you to end up like..."

"That's not going to happen. We can't..." Derek looked around, frustrated by the public setting. "We can't get that."

"No, but the universe is an inventive bitch. So, y'know." Stiles cleared his throat and dragged his hand away from where he'd been gripping Derek's. "Probably wouldn't be a bad idea to have the furry freeloaders apply for some scholarships themselves. College, man, it's not cheap."

"I think you don't realize just how much money I have," Derek muttered, idly swiping a finger over the back of Stiles' wrist, sending a shiver down his spine.

Grinning widely to hide the sudden flush of arousal Derek seemed capable of pulling from him with the slightest glance these days, Stiles said, "Well, if you really feel the need to blow some of it on me, there's an Imax movie out that I've been—"

"Yes," Derek said, squeezing Stiles' wrist gently.

Stiles tried to take the last sip of his drink and laugh at the same time. It didn't end well. Coughing his lungs up in the face of Derek's enthusiasm for a high quality cinematic experience probably wasn't proper social etiquette, but then again...

"Dude," Stiles wheezed, tears of mirth gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Stop looking at me like you're going to pop claws and give me an emergency tracheotomy in the middle of Starbucks. Coffee just went down the wrong way. I'm fine."

Derek frowned, his gaze trained on the base of Stiles' throat. "Stop hurting yourself then. I hate it when you get hurt."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles sat up, tugging on his arm until Derek let him go. "Coffee isn't exactly a supernatural foe. Relax, dude. I'm fine."

An uncomfortable silence descended which brought to Stiles' mind the thought that, yeah, this was more conversation than he could ever remember having with Derek. In fact, Derek had probably spoken more words today than at any point in their two year history together. Stiles blinked and let out a soft, "Aww."

Derek dragged his gaze away from where it had still been kind of intensely focused on Stiles' throat. "What?"

"Just...this. You're turning into a real boy, Pinocchio. I'm so proud."

Derek shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Not that that's unusual." Grabbing Stiles' empty cup and crushing it in one paw—Stiles mentally giggled—Derek said, "So. What movie are we going to see?"

Walking backward to maintain eye-contact with Derek, Stiles was telling him about the latest Marvel movie when Derek suddenly grabbed him, pulling him to a stop. For a wild second it almost seemed like Derek was leaning down toward him when a small kid darted around them.

"Heh, thanks. I guess that's why Dad's constantly telling me to watch where I'm going, huh?" Stiles rolled his eyes at himself.

Looking vaguely disappointed, Derek released him and backed away, letting Stiles turn around and lead them out of the shop.

v--v

Stiles barely made it to Danny's on time for their pre-arranged term project study date. Slumping into a chair at Danny's kitchen table, he called a greeting to Danny's mom and declined her offer of a snack. "Just ate a boat load of popcorn and snacks at the movies, Mrs. M. I'm good, thanks."

"Water, then?"

"Mom!" Danny mock-glared at her before grudgingly smiling his thanks. "We can get our own food and drinks. Go relax."

Spreading out his notes, Stiles waited for Danny to grab a calculator and the airplanes they'd made in varying paper stock for their Physics project experiments. "Were you able to use the Post Office scales this morning?" he asked, laptop open and cursor blinking in anticipation of capturing the accurate weight of each plane.

Danny stared at Stiles for an uncomfortable amount of time before he sat back in his seat, aiming a sharp-nosed plane at Stiles. "You didn't go to the movies with Scott, he's out with Allison tonight, and your Dad's working."

"Hmm? Yeah, no, Derek and I went to a movie," Stiles murmured, twisting around to grab the plane from the floor.

Sliding a piece of paper across the table, Danny said, "Here are the weights." He quietly double checked their mass versus lift and force calculations while Stiles input the data.

"So. You. And Derek," Danny murmured about fifteen minutes later while Stiles added speaking notes to their powerpoint. "No one else?" he asked.

Stiles rolled his eyes and flipped a handy pen at Danny's head. "Yeah, just us. It was impromptu; we talked about it when we were getting coffee this morning." Fuck, one of the results was way off. Stiles swore and traced the lines of numbers to find what data set he'd entered wrong.

"So, you got coffee together first, then went to the movies. You know what we call that, don't you?" Danny leaned forward, lowering his voice into a meaningful whisper. "Stiles! Are you dating Derek?"

Stiles' jaw dropped, and fingers spazzed on the keyboard. Dammit! Hitting undo until everything was back to normal, Stiles slashed a hand through the air. "Okay, first, no. I mean, seriously, Derek?"

"Miguel is all kinds of hot, and I would hit that with a sledgehammer."

Blinking, Stiles considered that and found himself nodding. "Okay, objectively, yeah he's..." Stiles waved his hand around his face. "But Danny, dude, what are you smoking?"

"What? I can't live in a dreamworld where Hotass Hale and his abs of steel are suddenly attainable for guys like me?"

Stiles opened his mouth before realizing he had no comeback for that. "Oh my God, stop. I do not need images of you and...seriously? 'Hotass Hale?' Who are you and what have you done with Danny?"

Danny just sort of flopped back in his seat. "Being between boyfriends sucks." 

"Yeah, well. Project." Stiles flailed his hands at the piles of project material spread out across the table. 

"You could be," Danny said, a musing quality to his voice as he swept his gaze over Stiles. "But that's more Lydia's arena."

"Not me! _School. Physics. Project._ Forty percent of our grade. Focus, man. Shit." But even after they were deep into their work, Stiles couldn't get the uncomfortable image of Danny and Derek out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three, "In Which Stiles Gets Bling", will be up Saturday night.


	3. Stiles Gets Bling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My undying devotion to Leela for the beta. BB, I know you are busy liek whoa these days and I know how priviledged I am to rate some of your free hours. I love you, lady!!

Stiles let out an _oof_ as Boyd squeezed onto the couch between Isaac and Erica, pushing Isaac into Stiles, who was already wedged against the arm of the couch. 

They were all gathered in Derek's loft, waiting for Derek to settle the sci-fi or chick flick debate (which really wasn't fair since the split had nothing to do with gender) while Scott and Allison made popcorn and drinks in the kitchen. Speaking of which...

"You know we're going to starve to death and/or die of thirst before those two stop making out long enough to actually fetch the snacks, right?" Stiles asked Derek, who was seated closest to Stiles on the loveseat arranged catty corner to the couch. The oversized beanbag chair on the floor held Jackson and Lydia, and Cora was lounging on the floor with her head on Isaac's knee. The only one missing was Peter, and really, everyone was always happier when he was gone. Apparently Allison was going to just sit in Scott's lap on the other side of Derek when they finally dragged themselves out of the kitchen. 

Derek grunted in acknowledgement of Stiles' statement before selecting the movie—the chick flick, of course, because this was Stiles' first Saturday night with no other school-type obligations. Why should he be allowed to watch a good sci-fi movie? Stiles leaned further onto the arm of the couch, feeling the other three shift with him until he was supporting about a thousand pounds of overheated werewolf. Ugh.

"Stiles," Derek said, and Stiles looked over to see Derek's face a lot closer than it'd been earlier. Close enough to reach out and touch those ridiculous eyebrows if he wanted to, which...what? 

Shaking that thought off, Stiles blinked and said, "Yeah?"

"Why don't you move over here? Pretty sure the couch is about to split apart with all of you on it. Let them fight it out."

"What about Scott and Allison?"

Derek shrugged, a tiny grin curving his lips. "I don't see them objecting."

"Because they're in the kitchen!" Stiles said, laughing, but made grabby hands at Derek until he pulled Stiles out of the corner of the couch. Derek was right. If Scott and Allison wanted a place to sit, they should have focused on providing snacks instead of making out. 

Stiles took a moment to stretch, working the kinks from his spine, before settling in beside Derek. The loveseat wasn't super roomy, but it was easily big enough for the two of them. Which didn't really explain why Derek's side was pressed flush against Stiles', but Stiles was not going to complain. He at least had enough room to take a full breath over here, unlike his spot on the couch.

With Derek all warm and solid against his side and a movie he had less than zero interest in cooing at him from the television, it really shouldn't have surprised Stiles to find himself waking up with his face all smushed into Derek's armpit, a tiny bit of moisture gathered at the corner of his mouth from what was hopefully only pre-drool. Please, God, let it be pre-drool.

Pulling away from Derek and smacking his lips to remove the funk of sleepytimes from his mouth, Stiles made a face and whispered, "Sorry 'bout that."

Derek, who'd turned from watching the movie as soon as Stiles had started moving, cocked his head in silent query.

Stiles flailed a hand in Derek's general direction and said, "Falling asleep all over you."

Shrugging, Derek reached for Stiles' shoulder and pulled him back down—which...what?—and murmured against his ear, "Don't worry about it. You're exhausted. I thought you'd rather fall asleep during this than the other movie. We'll save that one for after your finals are over and you're sleeping properly again."

Unsure how to hold his body to keep this sudden closeness from becoming uncomfortably familiar—Stiles' mental voice laughed hysterically because, _too fucking late_ —Stiles just let himself go limp so Derek could arrange him how he wanted him. And then mentally cursed himself and his traitorous body for taking that the wrong fucking way and choosing that moment to become far too interested in the idea of Derek _arranging Stiles how he wanted him_. 

Stiles sighed and dragged his sock-covered foot up onto the loveseat in an attempt to make the sudden bulge in his pants less noticeable. To the two humans in the room who couldn't smell it.

Fuck. His. Life.

Stiles started paying attention to the movie—he'd already missed the first hour and a half of it, but it was a rom-com, so really not much plot to catch up with—to give himself and his body something to focus on other than the fact that he was plastered against Derek's side with Derek's arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders. 

When the credits started flashing across the screen, Derek shook him gently. "Stiles?"

"Hmm?" Stiles shifted in a preemptive attempt to sit up, only to have Derek impede his efforts. Heavy-ass werewolf.

"There's something I'd like you to have," Derek said, and suddenly the entire room went silent as Boyd switched off the television and everyone turned to stare at Stiles. And again...what?!

Huffing, Stiles glared at the room in general before turning a grumpy look on Derek. "If this is about your money again—"

Derek's lips twitched, but he shook his head. "No, this is different." He reached for a nondescript white box on the table with the arm not holding Stiles in place and pulled it toward them. "It's...something to keep you safe."

With a look at Derek, Stiles took the box from him and lifted the lid. Inside was...uh. Something?

It looked kind of like a long piece of thick twine tied in a large circle with a round bone charm threaded in the middle.

"Okay?" Stiles knew he wasn't doing a very good job keeping the confusion from his voice. "What is it?"

"It's a protection amulet. The necklace—" Derek's fingers traced the twiney part, "is imbued with our scents, and the ivory—"

"Whoa, no. Ivory? That shit's illegal for a reason, man." Stiles lips folded down as he thought about the elephant that'd died to make this stupid protection charm. Obviously it wasn't a great charm, right? Because the elephant was fucking dead.

"It's...very old. This particular amulet has been in my family for five generations—" 

Stiles bit his lip to keep his thoughts about how very dead Derek's family mostly was—and of the three remaining, only Cora hadn't died in front of Stiles—

"—and I know you have reservations about the harvesting of ivory, but protection magic cannot be made from ivory that was forcefully taken. So this ivory had to be culled from either a lost or broken tusk or a naturally occurring death."

"Yeah, I'm calling bullshit. I've seen plenty of witches use shit they took forcefully."

"That's black magic. Protection spells are by nature the opposite of black magic. The black magic you've witnessed was about stealing power. Protection spells or amulets offer the wearer—"

"Let me guess," Stiles said with a smirk. "Protection?"

Derek bopped him on the head. "Yeah, asshole. But also power. With your spark, you should be able to draw on the strength of the pack in times of distress."

"Well." Stiles looked down at the amulet, letting that sink in. "Thanks, everyone." Glancing up, he looked at Allison and Lydia. "Where's yours?"

Scott shifted uncomfortably—yeah, the floor wasn't as nice as the loveseat, Stiles thought with a smirk—before he said, "Jackson and I are taking care of them. Deaton's helping."

"Ahh. Say no more." Stiles nodded to himself. It made sense that Scott and Jackson would want to make some new, super-powered protection for their girlfriends. Ready-made hand-me-downs were all well and good for Stiles, the pack-adjacent human, but he knew Scott wouldn't put up with anything less than perfect for the future mother of his litter.

Stiles snickered to himself. _Litter!_ God, he was fucking hilarious.

"Stiles, would you like a drink?"

Blinking out of his thoughts, Stiles looked up to see Boyd standing kind of awkwardly beside the couch, his eyes darting from the floor to Derek, as if seeking permission. Or approval. 

Which, oh god, seriously, why had everyone suddenly become weird? The only person in this room who'd ever offered to get Stiles a drink in the history of ever was Scott, and after the Suicide Soda Incident of '06—Strawberry Fanta, Mountain Dew, and diet root beer should never ever be mixed...ever—Scott no longer bothered. 

But Boyd was still standing there, the stunned silence growing more awkward by the second, before Stiles shrugged. Not that shrugging was very effective with Derek's arm weighing his shoulders down. "Sure? Coke, if we have it?"

"Thank you, Boyd." The warm approval in Derek's voice made Stiles roll his eyes at the ungentle reminder. 

Elbowing Derek in the ribs, Stiles said, "Yeah, yeah, I was gonna thank him. Generally you do that when the person completes the task though."

Derek didn't respond, just grinned down at him. With a real grin. Which...eyes and dimples and... Hnngh, so pretty.

Jiggling the box in his hands, Stiles lowered his gaze to a spot on Derek's chest—because a smiling Derek was too much for his fragile emotional state apparently—and whispered, "And, uh. Thanks. For the amulet."

Derek didn't say anything, just lifted the amulet from the box and slipped it over Stiles' head, fiddling with it until the ivory charm was nestled in the hollow of his throat.

v--v

"Stiles?"

Stiles whipped around and stared, a can of green beans nearly falling from his grasp before he remembered himself and sort of juggled it until he once more had a firm hold on the can. "Dr Deaton?" he asked, staring around in surprise. "What are you...?"

"The same as you, I would imagine," Deaton said evenly, like Stiles had actually completed that inane question.

Right. Grocery store. Shopping. 

It was just, even knowing the man for most of his life—and sort of dying in front of him, no matter how temporarily—it still kind of threw Stiles to think that the man did normal, everyday things. Like shopping. Or eating food from a grocery store instead of the ripped-off wings of fairies or the still-beating hearts of newborn kittens. Or something.

Stiles had very specific ideas about the shit Deaton got up to when no one else was around, and they weren't always nice.

"Yeah." As a conversational tangent, it was kind of lacking, but Stiles was going to stand there nodding along with himself until the creepy weirdness of Deaton appearing in the canned vegetable aisle went away.

"I see Derek gave you the Hale Amulet."

Stiles brought his hand up to the amulet that hung from his neck—incidentally bashing his breastbone with the can of green beans, oww—and said, "Yeah. It's for protection."

Deaton's stare said not-very-nice things about Stiles' intelligence. "I'm aware. It's very powerful. And not to be taken lightly."

Carefully setting the green beans in his shopping cart, Stiles nodded—he was just a bobble head here for Deaton's amusement, apparently—and said, "Powerful, got it. Definitely not taking it lightly."

"I'm glad to hear that. It was very important to him, that you understand the significance of him giving it to you."

And then Stiles felt kind of bad, for considering it a second-hand amulet. Because he knew how it felt, to have something that reminded you of loved ones you'd lost. And the pack had given it to _him_ , which. Okay, yeah, Jackson and Scott wanted all new, super-charged protection for Lydia and Allison, but it wasn't like Derek had been obligated to give away a piece of his family history.

Stiles thought about the necklace of his mom's that hung over the corner of his mirror, how it would feel to give that away, and the very idea brought wet heat to his eyes. Looking up at Deaton, Stiles tried for a smile that wobbled off his lips before it really got started. "I understand, I really do."

When Deaton just nodded politely and made as if to move away, Stiles called after him, "Thanks, though. For...reminding me."

"I still consider myself Talia's Emissary. I wouldn't be a very good steward of that trust if I didn't look after her treasures. You'll be good for each other. I'm happy for you."

Which was a really strange thing to say about a person's relationship with an antique necklace, but. Well... 

It was Deaton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 remains woefully unwritten. *scowl* Which is ten kinds of awful because 5, 6, and portions of 7 are done. Anyway, I will finish it today, but there might be a delay in the beta process. I will alter the fabric of the universe to get 4 up on Wednesday, as scheduled.
> 
> So, you know, any meteorological phenomena? Totally my fault this week.


	4. Never Take Dating Advice From Van Gogh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to all who suffered floods, drought, sudden meteor showers, and other phenomena. Thanks to Leela, my beta goddess, this chapter is ready on time. Ish. :D
> 
> Also, this chapter is considerably longer than the ones before because Chapter 4 and Chapter 5 merged into one ginormous Voltron Super Chapter. So. Chapter 6 is now Chapter 5 (and completely done).

Stiles lay on the porch of the burned out shell of the old Hale house, staring at the cracked and warped beams above him. Probably he should find another place to wait during the bi-weekly pack runs through the Preserve, but damn if he wasn't too lazy. Seriously, there was a perfect Stiles' Butt Groove already worn into the wood under him. 

It would be a shame to give that up.

The noise of an engine made him lift his head to see Lydia's car coming up the dirt drive. Grinning, he waved to her and Allison when they got out of the car, chattering away at each other as they continued whatever conversation they'd been having on the drive over.

"Did you bring snacks? Tell me you brought snacks!" Stiles loudly begged, his hand dropping to his concave belly. "My blood sugar is dropping into dangerously low territory."

"Please," Lydia said with a snort, stepping over him after threatening him with the wickedly sharp-looking point of her heel. "If you'd ever eat anything other than sugar, you wouldn't have this problem."

Allison smiled widely, nudging Stiles in the hip with her knee as she sat down next to him. "Pretty sure he's going to get something else today, at least. Right, Stiles?"

Blinking, Stiles shrugged. "Dunno. What'd you bring?" He wrinkled up his nose at the thought of healthy snacks. The last time Isaac had made flaxseed muffins, Stiles had spent the entire rest of the day pouring Red Bull down his throat to get rid of the taste. And Stiles _hated_ Red Bull.

"Me?" With a short laugh and a shake of her head, Allison punched him lightly in the arm. "As if you don't know Derek's providing for you today."

"Derek?" Stiles sat up, forehead wrinkling at her. "What—"

"Oh, wow," Allison breathed, interrupting him as her hand raised to trace just under the amulet that rested on Stiles' throat. "I didn't notice all the black in it the night Derek gave it to you."

"Yeah, it's pretty cool, huh?" Stiles ran his own fingers over the twine-like part of the amulet. "The lights that night were too dim to really pick it up, I guess. I really thought...it's kinda strange, you know? I thought it'd feel weird, or like it was choking me or something, but it's really comfortable. Feels like I've been wearing it forever."

Allison's expression went soft and gooey as Lydia stepped out of the house. 

"Yeah, yeah, you two are just sickening. You don't see Jackson and I being all—" Lydia started to say before Allison interrupted her.

"Oh my _god_ , Lydia! The power of your love kept Jackson alive! How much more sickening does it get?"

The weird girly bickering—and Stiles had seriously lost the thread of this conversation—was broken up by the return of the pack. Isaac and Jackson jogged through the tree line first, followed by Erica and Cora, then Boyd and Scott.

Tilting his head, Stiles called out, "What happened to our fearless leader? Shit, you guys didn't leave him alone, did you? Peter knows about the runs, guys. Not cool."

Scott rolled his eyes at Stiles, coming up onto the porch to pull Allison into a sweet kiss before he said, "No, he would have beaten us back, but he stopped to get—"

"Oh my fucking lord, what the hell is that?" Stiles screeched, pointing to where Derek, in full wolf form, was dragging something huge and fawn-colored toward the house. Getting to his feet slowly, he walked down the porch steps and into the clearing at the front of the house to get a closer look. "Is that...is that a _deer_?!"

It was. The neck had been fucking savaged, sharp teeth had ripped through the flesh, and something red and ropey had spilled from the underbelly—

Stiles' entire body flushed with sickening heat and his throat closed up in horror before he sprinted to the closest bush. Thankfully, breakfast had been several hours ago, so he didn't have much in his stomach to lose. Bent over, he continued spitting bile from his mouth as he waved a hand behind him. Eyes overflowing with tears—a physical reaction to heaving up his guts—Stiles choked out a harsh, "Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you people?! If you were that hungry, I could have made a trip to Subway or something while you were getting your run on."

Turning back around, his gaze immediately dropped to the deer carcass and another wave of nausea hit him. "Oh Jesus, fuck, someone get that out of here."

A harsh, heartbroken howl split the air, dragging Stiles' horrified gaze away from the slaughtered deer. Derek—still rocking his full wolf form—was staring back at him, rear legs buckled nearly to the ground and tail tucked tight between them. His ears were laid back on his head, not threatening, but looking like a dog whose beloved owner had come home and kicked it in the teeth.

Which was pretty much when realization hit Stiles like a two by four to the nuts.

As he stood there gaping, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, Derek took off. Before Stiles could call out, Derek was only a blur of black disappearing into the forest.

"Oh shit."

"You...fucker," Cora's growl was the first one that hit Stiles in the _prey_ center of his brain. It was soon joined by Erica, Isaac, and Boyd's. Stiles tore his gaze away from the swaying branches Derek had escaped through and looked up. Allison and Lydia were still standing on the porch, Lydia with a look of utter disdain while Allison had one hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes. Scott's disappointment stabbed into Stiles where he stood, and he flinched.

The only person who didn't appear at all fazed by what had just happened was Jackson, who was smirking at Stiles, obviously enjoying the fact that Stiles was about to get ripped the fuck apart by the pack. He started up a slow golf clap that caused Stiles to feel worse with each ringing sound. "Good job, Bilinski. I told Hale you were too much of an asshole to bother with. Maybe now he'll listen to me."

"He won't have to," Erica said around a mouthful of teeth. "I'm going to rip his fucking head off." 

Cora growled a warning at Erica. "Get in line."

"Wait." The strength behind Scott's voice froze them all. "I know Stiles. He wouldn't...you wouldn't just break someone's heart like that. Right?" 

The fact that it was even a question made something curl up and die inside Stiles. Drawing in a deep breath, he looked directly into Scott's eyes. "I...I didn't..."

"What? Was it the blood? Did it just... I know you used to have a weak stomach, man, but that was years ago. Way before all the shit storms we've been through."

Stiles plunged his hands into his hair and tugged. "I didn't know he was courting me, dammit!"

Because it was so heartbreakingly obvious now. Stiles felt fucking _stupid_ with how obvious it was. He remembered the presentation he'd made to the pack in junior year, _Courting For The Fur-Enabled_. At the time, he'd thought it was hilarious, teaching the pack about things like scent marking and proving their worth as a provider in everything from wealth to their hunting abilities.

Hunting abilities. Stiles looked down at the deer and swallowed roughly. _Fuck._

"How could you—" 

"Because I'm fucking stupid, obviously! Or maybe because no one," and here he pinned Scott with an angry glare because, _really_. His voice rose as he half-yelled, " _No one told me._ "

"He's been courting you for—"

"A long fucking time! I know that _now_ , Scott, thank you so fucking much."

"What the hell did you think he was doing, then? He fucking scent marked you! Offered to pay for your college!" Scott gestured wildly to Stiles' neck. "Gave you his fucking protection!"

Scott and Stiles were right up in each other's faces, the rest of the pack staying back and watching. 

"He..." Stiles' shoulders slumped. "I thought... He said he was showing _you_ how to scent Allison—"

Allison let out a sharp gasp and a quiet, "Scott..."

"—and he told me he'd offered to pay for everyone's college, not just mine. I mean, we discussed his finances, but not like...Jesus, I don't know. And the amulet. I just thought..." Deaton's words about being _good for each other_ rang hollowly in his ears. "Jesus, Scott, why didn't you say anything?"

"Every time I tried to talk to you about it, you wouldn't let me! You'd tell me to shut up, or you'd change the subject. I just thought... When it's really important, you dodge. You always have. We don't talk about your mom, either."

"God," Stiles said, rubbing at his forehead. "I feel so fucking stupid."

"Yeah, you are," Lydia said. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

And that really _was_ the question, wasn't it?

Lifting his shoulders in a helpless shrug, Stiles said, "I don't know. I need to...think."

"Stiles..." Cora's eyes were human, but with a feral edge that let him know the danger had not passed. 

"This is... A lot. Okay? Can we agree on that? If nothing else, I respect Derek enough to want to think about what it means and whether or not I'm capable of..." Stiles waved his hands around, at a loss for words. "I don't want to hurt him. But I don't want to hurt me, either."

"Go home, Stiles. Or somewhere not here. Just...go away."

Stiles took Cora's advice and left.

v--v

Stiles was laying on his back, staring at his ceiling while his thoughts chased each other in a frantic loop around his brain. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Stiles rolled his head to the side and called out, "Dad?"

Dad stopped in his doorway, leaning on the jamb. "Hey, kid. What's up?"

"What do you do when you hurt someone? Not on purpose, but hurt them...really badly?"

"Did one of the kids at school find out you're dating Derek?" Dad asked kindly. "Son, heartbreak is a fact of life—"

"What? What what what?!" Stiles nearly flailed off the bed. "You _knew_?"

"Uh...yeah? I mean, I've known you were dating him for a while, but neither of you said anything 'til Derek asked my permission to court you about a month ago." He said it so casually, as if this were not life-altering information of the _brand new_ kind.

"Dad...when...? Oh my god." Pieces of this utter ridiculousness kept dropping into place like goddamn bombs or something. He remembered now, coming home one night from studying with Scott and seeing Derek leaving his house. His dad all weird and shocked and... "Apparently you and I were having two very different conversations that night. I was talking about how I've been _hounding_ him," Stiles had to pause long enough to mentally high-five himself for the unintentional dog pun, "for months to create a 'dialogue' with the Sheriff's Department."

"Someone's been marathoning CSI again," Dad muttered before dragging a hand down his face. "Stiles...son. Derek has had a 'dialogue' with me since...," his eyes took on a faraway glaze as he did the math, "two years ago? A year and a half? Months before _you_ started a dialogue with my department, anyway."

"Whu-buh-wha... _why_? I mean, no, not why, just...I don't." Stiles found himself flustered into momentary speechlessness. "I don't get it. He never said anything."

"All I can tell you is what he told me," Dad said, and then _stopped speaking_ because, yes, that was what the people nearest and dearest to Stiles _did_ apparently, when shit got important.

"Are you quite finished?" Dad asked, lips crooked in amusement while Stiles completed his apparently-not-so-mental freakout in the privacy of his own head.

Dragging in a deep breath and clenching his teeth so as not to word vomit all over the place the next time someone, _Dad_ , frustrated him with a singular attention to opacity, Stiles rolled his hand in a 'get on with it' gesture. 

"Derek came to me one night, out of his mind with worry and anger because you apparently had decided to throw yourself in front of something that could kill you. To save him. He...did not take that well and came to me in the hopes that I could use my power over you to make you stop sacrificing yourself. Or, barring that, lock you in your damn room for the rest of your life. After I stopped laughing over his mistaken idea that I've ever had any control over you, he told me everything. He _showed_ me everything." Dad had to stop and roll his eyes at Stiles' sudden giggle fit. "No, okay, not _everything_ , thank you for that mental image. But he changed his face or whatever you call it, and then picked me up when I hit the damn floor because no one had bothered to tell _me_ werewolves were real. Especially not my loving son."

"I did...!"

"Six. Months. Later."

They remained there in silence, Dad half-glaring at him as Stiles chewed over that tidbit of information. "Huh," he said eventually. "Guess that's why you were so chill when we told you. I mean, considering."

"So, yes, when Derek came and told me last month that he was planning to court you, I didn't object. You're eighteen now, and old enough to make life or death decisions for yourself and others, so... I just told him the only approval he really needed was yours because I already knew he'd go to any length to keep you safe." Dad crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels, gaze skittering to the side before he mumbled, "And that's what's important to me. Because I can't lose you too."

Stiles blinked back the moisture that burned his eyes at that sentiment before rapidly redirecting the conversation. "I just... I don't understand how all of this has been happening, and I had no idea. I mean. None." 

"Stiles. When a man uses words like 'approval,' 'blessing,' and 'consent'—"

"You didn't say consent! You said..." Stiles squinted at the ceiling as he tried to recall that conversation, shoulders falling into a slump as he muttered, "'Permission.' You said he asked for your permission." Wow. Stiles was an _idiot._ "Wow, I'm an idiot." It bore repeating.

"Not your fault," Dad said, a glimmer of a smile lighting up his eyes. "You come by it naturally. Famous 'Oblivious Stilinski' genes."

Stiles' lips twitched. "Yeah?"

"Your mom and I dated for two months before I knew we were dating. And I was the one inviting _her_ out. We were at second base..."

"Daaad, no!"

"...before I figured out I had a girlfriend and not just a really close, really affectionate friend of the opposite sex."

Stiles shook his head, hiding from gross parent make-out stories behind his pillow. "So what do I do now?"

"Well, first you need to figure out how you feel. Do you like Derek? Do you want to date him? Be, y'know, courted by him? And please, do not feel the need to tell me details. This is just..."

"All over my hot, sexy young body," Stiles said, grinning an evil grin. "Payback's a bi...Bad thing, Dad. Just remember that next time you wanna talk about bases." Not that Stiles needed to finish that thought, because halfway through, Dad had blanched and retreated to the relative safety of his own room.

Stiles felt the grin fall from his face as he stared up at the ceiling, the place where all answers hid. He turned everything over in his head, taking the time to really think about the things Dad had said to him.

_Did_ he like Derek? He wanted him, sure. Anyone with eyes in their head and the ability to use them wanted Derek. Straight men wanted Derek. Sometime around junior year, Stiles had given up the illusion that he wasn't at least bi. Straight boys did not spring inappropriate boners around leather-wearing, scruffy, Alpha male type dudes. 

The bigger question was, was he prepared for a relationship with Derek that encompassed the sort of feelings and emotions that Derek obviously felt already? Because it was kinda glaringly obvious that he did. Courting implied a desire for a deeply committed relationship, which in turn implied love. So, did he love Derek? 

Swallowing hard, Stiles felt a clench in his belly. No. He didn't love Derek, not the way he should to accept any part of this courtship. But he knew he _could_ love him. And that scared the shit out of him.

Stiles was accustomed to falling for people he had no hope with, so his long-time, lusty crush on Derek hadn't grown out of proportion. He'd known all along that he had no hope of having his feelings returned, which had kept them from becoming Feelings. He'd maintained a manageable level of attraction, but hadn't fallen into 'point of no return' territory.

Stiles drew in a deep breath and held it. If he wanted this, if he pursued it...it could crush him flat and leave him bleeding out. Thinking back on the day, he winced and realized maybe he'd deserve it. 

The memory of Derek's grief-stricken howl followed him into restless dreams that night.

The next morning, Stiles seated himself, fully dressed, opposite his dad at the breakfast table. He slid a plate with four pieces of real, thick cut bacon across the table. "Dad. I think I'm going to court a werewolf."

"Shut up, Stiles," Dad mumbled around a mouthful of delicious heart attack. "Bacon."

And Stiles just nodded, because yes. Bacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5, the name of which I'm still unsure, will be posted Saturday night in the US, as scheduled.


	5. Chapter 5: Holy Shit, You Guys!  Communication!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, sorry, I was all distracted with writing and shit. Whooosh went Saturday night on the East Coast. So sorry dudes. I'll try to load 6 early Wednesday to make up for it.

Stiles stood in the corner of Derek's bedroom, arms crossed over his chest, glowering. Okay, so probably his glower looked more like constipation or something, but he was setting a mood here. It was eventually going to be romantic. And hilarious, even if only in his own head. So, some hilariously romantic glowering was going on all over Stiles' face.

Now he just needed Derek to arrive before his lips cramped from how long he'd been holding his glower. 

Five minutes later, he couldn't help himself and did some weird facial stretching exercises, which of course meant that when Derek stepped through the doorway, Stiles was massaging his cheeks, his mouth pulled open into a Scream mask expression, eyebrows attempting to make a break for it up into his hair. It was not a good look.

Hoping Derek hadn't noticed him yet, Stiles quickly resumed his Glower Stance, and did his most professional lurk ever. Not that Stiles had any hope in hell of matching the pure _craftsmanship_ of Derek's lurk, but still. A for effort.

Derek was halfway across the room before he stopped, his shoulders drooping. Sounding utterly defeated, he said, "What do you want, Stiles?"

Stiles immediately sobered, because the thought of Derek giving up on him _now_ was just...heartbreaking. Stepping over to Derek, he hesitated before placing his hand on Derek's arm and urging him to turn around. "Hey, uh. Funny thing. I didn't...know."

When Derek just stood there, not saying a word and keeping his gaze cast toward the floor, Stiles swallowed roughly and said, "Apparently you've been courting me?"

 _That_ got a reaction. Derek's gaze snapped to his, a scowl darkening his features. "I'm glad you find my efforts so hilariously inept."

Stiles flung his hands up in a universal stop motion. "Whoa! Derek, no. That's not...I didn't know. I didn't know you were courting me, or that we've apparently been dating, or any of it. I swear to God, I didn't know." Reaching one of his suddenly trembling hands toward Derek, he could only repeat in a whisper, "I didn't know."

Stepping back from Stiles' reach, Derek wrapped his arms around himself, protecting himself. From _Stiles._ "You're the one who lectured the pack on courting etiquette. So telling me—"

"Because you never said! I realize you're allergic to words or something, but if you don't tell me what's going on, how am I supposed to know?"

"And your birthday?"

Stiles blinked, startled at the complete non-sequitur. "What? What about my birthday?"

"Our first date? I took you to Jungle."

Suddenly Stiles wanted to throw up again. "I...I thought..."

"What?"

Trying to calm his breathing so he didn't work himself into a panic attack, Stiles said, "I thought that was you trying to help me get laid."

Derek's lips compressed until they were just a hard slash across his face, and his eyes... _god_. Unable to hold back, Stiles lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Derek. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I swear I didn't know."

"I invited you." Derek's voice was harsh against Stiles' ear, his entire body stiff and unyielding. "I danced with you, all night."

"I know. I just...I figured you were doing the whole 'if one insanely hot person pays attention, everyone else will too' thing." Stiles whapped his forehead against Derek's shoulder. "I'm an idiot."

"Would you really have gone home with someone else?" And that was Derek's broken voice. Stiles could have lived happily never knowing what it sounded like. 

"Uh, no? I mean, I was kinda drunk by the end of the night. Plus..." Stiles rolled his eyes at himself and pulled away a few inches so Derek could see his expression. "I was having way too much fun with you. I didn't want to stop. That's why when we went go kart racing, I invited you to go with us."

"Our second date."

And, shit, Stiles was never going to get over how utterly stupid he was. "We've really been...for two months. Derek, why did you never use the word _date_? Or... Or something, _anything_ that would tell me that we were doing was, in fact, dating."

"Because I thought we were dating! When you agreed to go out with me on your birthday—"

"Oh my god, stop. Your exact words to me were, 'hey, wanna hit Jungle on your birthday?'" Derek's blank look made Stiles want to tear out his hair. "You didn't say anything about a date, Derek. Can you understand why I might have been misled about your intentions that night?"

"How can you be so smart when it comes to supernatural bad guys, but completely miss this? Stiles, you're always ten steps ahead on everything. How was I supposed to know you _didn't_ know we were going on dates? You kept showing up for them!"

"Because...I don't know! But I didn't know, Derek." They stared at each other, breathing hard. A thought occurred to Stiles then, one that made his stomach sour. "Why me? Is it...a werewolf thing?"

Derek raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "What?"

"Do I like...smell delicious to your wolfy senses or something? I just. I don't get it? Derek, you're..." Stiles backed up, putting almost half the room between them as his brain insidiously whispered to him about things he hadn't stopped to consider. "You're way out of my league. And we've been 'dating' for two months, but you've never... And, I mean, Scott and Allison were sucking face all over the place like _immediately_..." God, was he really so unappealing that even a dude who'd been dating him for _two months_ didn't want to at least kiss him?

"Stiles!" Derek was staring at him, eyes narrowed like he couldn't believe what Stiles was saying. "Every time, every _single_ time, I tried to make a move to do more than just hold your hand, you pulled away, or made a joke, or acted like you were stumbling over something and _pulled away_."

"When?! When did you ever make a move?" Because seriously, Stiles had no memory of that at all.

"All the time! Stiles..." Derek was waving his hands around, lips moving without words coming out before he stopped, looking crazed. "All the time."

"Okay, so...if this happened all the time and I kept pulling away," Stiles was going to concede that, because he suddenly recalled a few instances of Derek looming in a vaguely up close and predatory way. So...maybe? "Why did you keep going out with me?"

"I...almost didn't. But every time I convinced myself that you just weren't into me—" Derek ignored Stiles automatic snort of disbelief, "—you'd invite me somewhere, or come over, and we'd _touch_ , and I could smell your arousal. I knew you wanted me, so I figured you just wanted to take it slow."

"Leaving aside the fact that a few simple words would have cleared that all up... Seriously. Have you _met_ me? Why would I...? Derek, you are hot like—the December photo in the fireman's calendar hot." Stiles couldn't help gesturing at Derek's _everything_ again. And then the mirror because, yeah. 

Derek pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, making a frustrated noise. "Then why...? That day, at Scott's, when you..."

Remembered embarrassment sweeping through him, Stiles nodded. "Yep, I recall the moment well; you don't have to bring it up." Hah! 'Bring it up.'

"You told me to leave. You said I was being inappropriate and... I mean, I really wasn't trying to push you for anything you didn't want or weren't ready for, but—"

" _What?!_ When did I...? Oh. My. God. Derek! I wasn't talking to you! I was talking to my..." Stiles dropped his head back, rolling his lips under in frustration. Waving his hand at his crotch, he said, "Little Stiles."

"You were talking to your dick?" And that level of skepticism was really not necessary.

"Yeah, because I didn't want to make you feel awkward around me! I like hanging out with you, and I didn't want you to pull away from me and go back to how it was before, all because I wasn't able to keep it in my pants."

Derek just stared at him, face blank and so fucking beautiful it hurt.

Rubbing at his face, Stiles said, "Okay, can we just rewind this conversation? Because I don't think you heard me the first time. You are way too _everything_ , and I just don't understand what you could possibly want with _me_."

"Why wouldn't I want you?" Derek sounded confused, as if it was completely self-evident, which...

"No. You know what? No! I'm not going to feel stupid about this anymore, because it doesn't make sense!" Stiles knew he was getting hysterical, knew Derek could hear it in his voice, but he wasn't stopping now. "I have _eighteen years_ of people completely ignoring my existence, telling me there's no way in hell you could possibly want anything to do with me."

Derek scoffed. "Okay, first, you have not been old enough to date for eighteen years. Like, three. Maybe. Second, I don't know! Maybe they don't know you like I do. Maybe they don't know how amazing you are, and smart, and loyal. Brave enough to throw yourself into danger for people you don't even like. I don't know why no one else sees how fucking beautiful you are! Or...maybe they do." 

When Derek went quiet and looked away, Stiles raised his eyebrows in question.

"I might have...made it seem that I was...before your birthday. And Isaac assumed we were together and maybe warned others off. Which I didn't know! I mean, not until Christmas. But I already knew then that I wanted you, so I didn't tell him to stop."

"Christmas? That was..."

"Five months ago."

"Did we...?" And how stupid was it that Stiles had to ask if he'd been dating Derek since Christmas? Fuck.

"No. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not... I waited until you were eighteen. I thought about waiting until you graduated, but. I couldn't. Wait any longer, I mean."

Stiles looked at Derek, standing silent and sort of helpless across the room, and wondered what the fuck was wrong with himself. Before he even knew he was moving, he'd thrown himself into Derek's arms, head tilted, lips searching. 

It was kind of messy; his aim was off, Derek was too surprised to react properly, and scruff was kind of bad scratchy against Stiles' lips. But they figured it out. Derek's hands came around him, smoothing into the dip of Stiles' spine, and their lips lined up, parting and rubbing and making room for Derek to lick into Stiles' mouth. Which. Hnngh.

It probably wasn't enough to make up for unintentionally cockblocking them both for two fucking months—Stiles was just never getting over that, ever—but it was kind of crazy awesome anyway. When they inevitably parted, Derek kept making little kitten licks against Stiles' lips, and Stiles _let him_ because who the fuck wouldn't.

"Okay," Stiles whispered, desperately trying to focus. "So here's what's going to happen now. It's your turn to get wooed—"

"You don't have to—"

"Shut up. Yes, I do. But also, I want to." Stiles interrupted himself long enough to suck on Derek's bottom lip because it was _there_ and he _could_...and then they were kissing again, hips grinding against one another in the most freaking ridiculously hot way. 

Unnh, he needed to stop this. A complete lack of communication had led to so many missed opportunities already, but—he rolled his hips and whined—maybe just a little more...? 

No.

Pulling his lips from Derek's, Stiles chanted, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," as Derek just redirected and began sucking kisses all down his neck. "Hooohgod, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Derek said, the words muffled by Stiles' neck. 

"No, no, this is...preemptive apology." Concentrating on every small movement, Stiles slowly separated himself from Derek. "Hnngh. We need to talk. Like, more words, less body language. And there's no way I'm going to be able to concentrate on words if you're standing there looking like that, so..." Looking around, he made a decision and grabbed Derek's hand, pulling him to the doorway. Pointing to the floor beneath the light switch, he said, "You sit here. I'll be on the other side of the wall. There will be an open exchange of words and ideas. Or something."

Derek dragged his gaze up from Stiles' throat, blinked, and said, "What?"

"Oh god, yeah, see? This is why we need the separation. Because right now I just want to jump your damn bones. That won't actually help anything in the long run." Flapping his hand at Derek's designated spot, he said, "Sit," and then stepped around the doorjamb to sink to the floor on the other side, adjusting himself in his jeans before he did.

Stiles could already feel his brain rebooting. See? This could work.

And then he heard the unmistakable sound of Derek's zipper sliding down.

"Oh my god, what are you doing?"

"I can't... _sit_ like this. I just need more room."

Dropping his forehead onto his bent knees, Stiles groaned in agony. "After we talk about us, we're totally going to have a conversation about tight jeans and low sperm count."

There were sounds of a body sliding slowly down the other side of the wall before Derek said, "Okay. Talk."

"Well, first of all, I need you to know...I thought about this. All night long, which, granted, is probably not as much as you've thought about it, but. I want this. I want to try this, anyway, with you." Stiles held his breath, staring hard at the blank wall across from him. This next part might end it all before it started. "But I don't know...I am very much attracted to you, and I enjoy spending time with you, but..."

"But you don't feel _that way_ about me." Derek's voice wasn't much more than a whisper.

"I wish we could come at this from the same place, but you've been dating me for two months. Right? As far as I knew, I was hanging out and having fun with my friend and pack leader. Which doesn't mean I won't get there, and damn fast considering the groundwork has already been laid, but—"

"What do you mean, groundwork?"

"Derek, dude...I genuinely _like_ you, okay? I enjoy being your friend. It took long enough, you know? So whatever else happens, I don't want to lose that. I mean, hell, I'm kind of ridiculously addicted to your smile. You don't use it much, but when you do, the entire fucking world lights up. And when you laugh, it's like..." Stiles choked back the ridiculously sappy words that wanted to escape at the thought of Derek's laughter. "Okay, so obviously I'm a little more gone on you than a totally platonic friend would be." Huh, that...was accurate. "But I still don't like the skewed balance of feelings thing we've got going on. It would be way too easy for us to hurt each other, so..."

"So?"

"So...we're gonna redo the whole dating thing, from my end this time. Because, shit, you deserve to be wooed after everything you've put up with from my oblivious ass."

There was a long pause from the other side of the wall before Derek said, "It's a nice ass."

"You know, if you'd said things like that before, I would have clued in a lot faster." But Stiles was grinning, his whole face alarmingly stretched with it, because _Derek liked his ass_.

Derek's arm reached around the doorjamb and kind of whapped at him. "Stoppit. I can smell the smug on you."

And then they were laughing, and it was...good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6: Their Second First Date will be posted Wednesday as scheduled.


	6. Their Second First Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who need the visual, this is what Derek's wearing: [Beginning of night](http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/93/e7/f1/93e7f1b3cd07c09dc29a21c69c4046fe.jpg) and [End of night.](http://amokmagazine.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/adam-lambert-make-a-wish-ball.jpg?w=640)
> 
> Thanks to Valress for those links, omg. So much. Lifesaver, bb.

"Why are we here again?" Jackson asked, eyeing Stiles' living room with his nose wrinkled in disdain.

"Because Stiles can't keep it in his pants around Derek—"

"That's not new," Lydia said with a delicate little snort.

"—and this is finals week." Scott slumped onto the sofa after making that announcement, grinning at Stiles' blush-filled glare. "What? You know it's true."

"Yeah, but at least I have enough foresight to move our studying out of Derek's apartment so I don't fail miserably because I'm too distracted to concentrate. Unlike someone who only passed last year because I gave him one of my Adderall pills so he could cram all night before the History final." Stiles made the universal 'looking at you' sign at Scott and Allison both, even though Allison had passed with flying colors. Maybe she just didn't find Scott distracting. 

Stiles turned a look of extreme pity on Scott at that thought. 

"So, what _is_ going on with you and Derek?" Isaac asked, which seemed to be all the excuse the rest of the pack needed to completely ignore their books and notes.

"Well, we talked about...everything." Rubbing suddenly sweaty palms over his thighs, Stiles wondered how much to tell them.

"Was your complete idiocy one of the things you talked about?" Erica asked, twirling a finger in her hair with a vicious grin.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles said, "Yes. God, of course it was."

"You were totally dating him, weren't you?" Danny called out from where he had set up in a corner of the room, spread out over the floor. 

"Oh, right. You weren't there the other day when Stilinski broke my brother's heart." Cora's voice was flat. She obviously did not find this as amusing as the rest of the pack, which... Fair. 

Stiles didn't either. 

"Umm. About that. I already apologized to Derek, but it all went down in front of you guys, so I kinda feel like maybe I should apologize to you too. I know he's," mindful of Danny's presence, Stiles stuttered briefly before saying, " _important_ to you all. I would never have reacted like that if I'd known..."

"Really?" Lifting her head from her Lit book, Cora pinned him with her gaze. 

"If nothing else, I would have known what was coming and either prepared myself or just...I dunno. Brought over my PS3 and a copy of Big Game Hunter." That earned him a few chuckles from the group and a weird look from Danny.

Rushing to continue the story before Danny could ask any awkward questions, Stiles blurted out, "So, yeah, we talked. After finals are over, we're going to try the dating thing again, now that we both know what's what." Stiles couldn't stop a small smile from curving his lips. _And the making out thing,_ he added silently.

"Where are you taking him?"

Stiles' smile turned into a huge grin at Allison's question. "Where else? I'm taking him to Prom."

v--v

"I got it!" Stiles yelled, running down the stairs as the final notes of the doorbell faded. "It's probably Scott!" 

"Okay. I'm still looking for the damn spare battery for this camera," Dad called back.

Stiles just shook his head and grinned, pulling open the door to let Scott in. Only to have all the breath leave his body in a gut-punched rush because...hohshit.

That was not Scott.

Stiles grabbed weakly for the door, wheezing and trying not to fall straight to his knees at the sight that greeted him. 

Standing on his front porch with a devilish smirk, one hand pushed into the pocket of his trousers, stood Derek. But... Derek put Stiles, dressed all snazzy in a black on red tux, to complete and utter shame. Derek, in fact, made James Bond look like a fucking child playing dress up.

Instead of a tux, Derek was wearing a fitted three piece suit in charcoal gray. The color did fucking amazing things to his eyes, and the combination of the tailored suit jacket and form-fitting pants made Stiles want to rub one off right there in the foyer.

"What are you...?" Stiles still only had breath enough to get out those three words. 

Before he could try again, Derek rolled his eyes and said, "I know you wanted to come pick me up, but we are _not_ squeezing into the limo with the rest of the pack. I figured we could take the Camaro."

"Hnngh." Stiles' brain went off line at the thought of _Derek_ , looking like _that_ , splayed out over the hood of the _Camaro._

"Derek! I thought you said it was Scott?" Dad came up behind Stiles, startling him into leaping forward.

"Yeah, thought it was," Stiles said, then coughed. "Scott and I were going to pick up the guys at the apartment, then go get the girls at Lydia's."

"That's a lot of people for one limo, isn't it?"

"That's what I thought, too. So I figured I'd save us some hassle and pick up Stiles myself."

Dad beamed at Derek. "Good thinking. Why don't you two go stand in the yard and I'll get some pictures—Jesus Christ, Stiles!" 

Stiles, who had pushed past Derek to get a good look at his ass in those pants, just gurgled.

"Seriously, son, if you can't stop objectifying Derek in front of all our neighbors, I'm going to pull out the baby pictures."

"Derek is not interested in naked pictures of _infant_ Stiles," Stiles said with an obscene eyebrow waggle, stepping up beside Derek to hide the fact that his hand was ghosting over the fabric covering Derek's ass.

The best part? He was totally allowed to grab that ass. They were _dating._ Stiles might have preened more than a little at that thought.

Derek, for his part, just gave a long-suffering sigh—totally for Stiles' dad's benefit, no doubt—and said, "Referring to yourself in the third person, Stiles, really?" But he kind of shifted his weight to press his ass more firmly into Stiles' hand, so that was all right.

"Jeez, guys, really?! Mrs Cho is drooling through her blinds."

Stiles jumped and whirled, turning to see Scott right behind them, staring in disgust at where Stiles' hand had been on Derek's ass.

"Hey, Scott," Stiles said, his voice pitched slightly higher due to the mini heart attacks brought on by creepy ass, silent werewolves. "Didn't hear you there." Thinking about that, he elbowed Derek in the ribs, who just lifted an eyebrow. _Smug fucker._

"Obviously." Frowning and gesturing at Stiles' loose tie, Scott said, "You need to get ready. The limo will be here any minute. Hey, Derek. Thought you'd be with Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson?"

Derek shrugged. "Stiles and I are going to ride over in the Camaro and let the rest of you fight for seats in the limo."

As if his words had conjured it, a long, sleek black limo turned onto Stiles' street. The sight of it sent Stiles' dad into a frenzy, and he snapped at Stiles, "Fix your tie. I want pictures before you leave."

"Shit," Stiles muttered, hurriedly winding the starchy material into a knot.

"Oh my god, stop. You're making a mess of it." Derek slapped his hands away and within moments, Stiles could feel his tie settled neatly against his throat. Derek lowered his voice to a whisper and said, "You're still wearing the amulet."

Forehead wrinkling at the surprised tone he'd heard in Derek's voice, Stiles shrugged and said, "Yeah, of course I am."

Derek cleared his throat, smoothed his hands down the lapels of Stiles' tux jacket, and said, gruffly, "Thanks."

Unable to stop himself, Stiles cupped Derek's face in his hands and leaned in for a brief, closed-mouth kiss. 

The mood was, of course, completely broken by a camera flash and Scott and his dad cooing over the photo. Rolling his eyes, Stiles turned, threw his arm over Derek's shoulder, and _cheesed_ spectacularly. "Take them quick, Dad!"

They suffered through every possible permutation of Prom Night picture—Derek standing stiff and awkward beside a beaming Stiles, Scott and Stiles falling all over each other, Stiles by himself, then a candid of Derek's ass after Stiles wrestled the camera from his dad. Half of them were ruined by wolfy eye-glare, but enough turned out that Stiles' dad was satisfied. After the last flash faded, Scott and Stiles finally darted off to geek out over the idling limo while Derek was trapped in curfew-negotiation hell.

"Wow." Stiles whistled, taking in the track lighting and sumptuous leather seats. "Dude, there are steps in here!"

"Raised seating in the back, aww yisss." Scott and Stiles paused for a high five, then continued poking and prodding at every little thing inside the limo. There were buttons for everything, as well as a _bar_ , holy shit. 

"Aww, suck. It's all soda."

"Of course it is." Stiles hit his head on the low ceiling when he heard Derek's voice. "Everyone riding in it is underage."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, Scott, you good to ride solo to Derek's?"

"Yeah, man, I'm good. See you at the hotel."

A quick fist-bump later, Stiles turned and tumbled out of the limo. Derek caught him just before he could face-plant into the tiny flower bed around the mailbox, which reminded Stiles... "Oh shit. Wait here; I'll be right back."

Dashing toward the house in black dress shoes with slick soles was probably not the best idea, but he managed to make it without incident. And apparently Dad had read his mind, because he had the cold plastic box in his hand and was rushing toward the door when Stiles flung it open. 

"Thanks, Dad." Stiles gingerly took the box so as not to crush the thin plastic, then threw his free arm around his dad, pulling him into a tight hug.

"No problem, son. Have a good night. I'm on duty tonight, so call my work cell if you need me."

"Okay. Be careful. Love you," Stiles called, already half out the door. He grinned as he saw Derek pressing a wad of cash into the limo driver's hand. Of course Derek wasn't going to let the pack pay for the limo.

"Hey," Stiles said, jogging toward Derek. "Come here."

Derek turned, a question starting to form on his lips before he caught sight of the box in Stiles' hands and started laughing instead. "Aww. You got me a corsage?"

"Shut up. No. It's a boutonniere." Blushing, Stiles cracked open the box and took the small, blood-red rosebud out. A pin held it to the black lace that served as a backdrop. Biting his lower lip in concentration, Stiles gently affixed the boutonniere to Derek's lapel and then stepped back. It looked...good. Really good. "Now we match. Ish."

Lips still twitching in mirth, Derek grabbed Stiles and pulled him close. A quick kiss preceded his, "It's beautiful. Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, asshole. I should have got you a corsage and made you wear that bitch all night long."

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and get in the car."

v--v

The grand ballroom at the hotel that the prom committee had booked was beautiful. The decorations were understated and elegant, with lighting that was bright enough to see—and appreciate—all the hard work and money the girls had poured into their outfits for the evening, but still dim enough to maintain an intimate atmosphere.

"Good job, Lyds," Stiles said when he saw her, pulling her into a loose hug so as not to wrinkle her shimmering gold gown. 

She just waved a hand. "Throw enough money at a decorating firm and you get results."

"I'm just so glad we didn't do a cheesy prom theme." Allison appeared on Scott's arm, the couple a true matched set in their black and teal ensembles.

Hearing the music start up, Stiles turned to look for Derek. His date—a tiny thrill went through him at that thought—was standing near the entrance, talking with the vice-principal. Stiles immediately went to rescue Derek from the awkward.

"Hey, Ms Wilkins."

"Mr Stilinski." Vice-Principal Wilkins stopped making disturbingly fond faces at Derek long enough to turn the stink eye on Stiles. "You tell your friends I'll be testing the punch regularly tonight. So no funny business."

Affecting an innocent expression, Stiles just murmured, "Of course."

"And Derek, dear, it's so good seeing you again."

"Thank you, Ms Wilkins. And thank you for allowing me to attend. I know I'm older than you usually allow students' dates to be." Oh god, Derek was being earnestly polite. It was too much. 

Apparently Ms Wilkins thought so too, because the old bat blinked suddenly watery eyes and clasped one of Derek's hands. "Nonsense. You should have been able to attend your own, and—"

"Oh, hey, that's your song!" Stiles said, overloud, interrupting her before she could ruin everything. Dragging up Derek's tortured past would only serve to throw a pall over the evening, and Stiles had _plans._ Happy plans. Happy in the pants plans. "Ms Wilkins, may I have this dance?"

Ms Wilkins' expression morphed dizzyingly from sympathetic to annoyed to pleased before she lifted a hand to her stiffly sprayed coiffure. "That...sounds lovely, Mr Stilinski."

As he herded her onto the empty dance floor, Stiles chanced a look over his shoulder at where Derek was still standing, his nose buried in the rose affixed to his lapel.

v--v

"It's almost eleven," Stiles said, arms looped around the back of Derek's neck as they did the time-honored 'clutch and sway.' 

"It's amazing how accurately you can predict the time," Derek said, one eyebrow crooked condescendingly. "Like someone invented a _machine_ that counts time down to the _second_ or something."

Stiles tugged on the short hair at the back of Derek's neck in retaliation, smirking when Derek gasped and rolled his hips.

"Dammit, Stiles, we can't—"

"I know, asshole. That's why I was about to suggest moving this party to a more interesting venue."

"How did you know?" Derek growled, and then turned an accusing glare on Isaac, who was slow dancing with Cora a few feet away. 

"How did I know what?"

Derek immediately brought his gaze back to Stiles, face flushing and looking slightly...shifty. "Nothing. Forget it. What was your plan?"

Narrowing his eyes at Derek—dude was not as clever as he thought he was—Stiles let it go with a soft, "Hmmph. Well, I figured since we danced with everyone, did the requisite overpriced picture thing, and ate our body weight in tiny food already, we could head over to Jungle for the after party. Relive our first date, only with more grinding and wandering hands than last time."

Derek dropped his forehead onto Stiles' shoulder. "God, yes. Let's get our jackets and get out of here."

While Stiles collected their jackets and commemorative champagne flutes, Derek relayed their plans to Scott and Isaac and then met Stiles at the table. Derek picked up his sadly broken and forlorn looking boutonniere, the tragic victim of a too enthusiastic Electric Slide. "Think I can save the petals?"

"Only if you're planning to throw them on my pillow later."

Derek banged into the table's edge, causing the remaining glasses and dishes scattered across it to tinkle noisily. "Fuck, Stiles. Let's get out of here, quick, before you get me arrested for public indecency."

Stiles just cackled and held Derek's jacket out to him, so he could hold it folded over his forearm—which allowed the material to drape over his tented groin. They dashed for the lobby in an attempt to not get stopped by either the harried chaperones or the bored photographer.

It was a warm night out and Stiles knew the inside of Jungle would just be stifling with body heat, so he stopped off at Derek's car to shed a few layers. Knowing his plain white undershirt would have Jungle's doorman frowning at him, he slipped his red vest over top of it and checked himself in the side mirror. Good enough.

He mentioned the heat to Derek, who shrugged and tossed his jacket inside. "I'll just roll up my sleeves; it'll be fine."

And since Stiles had really been enjoying the way the suit's vest highlighted how Derek's chest tapered from broad shoulders to a well-defined waist, he certainly wasn't going to argue. When Derek folded back the cuffs on his shirt to show off his forearms, Stiles' cock gave a very interested twitch.

Derek nostrils flared, his head jerking up to stare at Stiles over the roof of the car. The parking lot lights turned his eyes iridescent. 

Stiles swallowed roughly and was about to do something dramatic—and possibly embarrassingly illegal—just as the rest of the pack spilled out of the hotel lobby, laughing and talking excitedly.

"You guys ready?" Erica called.

"Yeah," Derek said, not bothering to raise his husky voice. "You ready?"

Stiles rocked back on his heels, met Derek's challenging stare with one of his own, and said, "Oh, it's on, fucker."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7: (No Good Title Yet) will be posted sometime this weekend. I'd say for sure on Saturday, but I cannot guarantee that due to kids' sports tournaments out of town. 
> 
> However, it is the chapter in which this fic earns its rating, so yay?


	7. It's a Jungle Out There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter accounts for about a third of the total word count of this fic. IDEK. Also, tags have been updated, with warnings for public sexytimes and other radom things.
> 
> Leela and Fairyniam deserve all the accolades for their patience with me during this chapter. I haven't written real porn in about a year and a half, so this required a ton of work and general hand-holding.

The entire club was pulsing with music, bodies writhing on the dance floor in a great, undulating mass of gleaming limbs. As soon as the pack got through the door, they split up, the majority going to claim a table while Scott and Allison headed toward the bar. Stiles grabbed Derek's arm, holding him back.

"Dance with me?"

Derek just nodded, his gaze turning hooded and intense. 

Stiles let out a breath and pushed through the crowd of bodies. He barely remembered his birthday, just had vague memories of an alcohol-tinged haze of sweaty, sliding skin and the flash of Derek's teeth when Stiles' drunken flailing garnered them an arms' width of room to dance. Tonight he was determined to remain sober, to remember every second.

A body pressed against his back and he stiffened, knowing without looking that it wasn't Derek. Between one beat and the next, the body was gone, allowing Derek's familiar form to slide up behind him. 

Derek's chin hooked over his shoulder, his lips moving against Stiles' ear. "I should make you wear a sign."

Grinding his ass back against Derek, Stiles pitched his voice just loud enough for Derek to hear. "If found, return to owner? This ass property of Derek Hale?"

Stiles felt Derek shudder, his hands gripping Stiles' hips almost painfully as the blunt edge of his teeth scraped over the knob of bone at the base of Stiles' neck. "Does that bother you?"

Stiles shivered, lust sliding down his spine from where Derek's teeth had been. He tilted his head back, nestling it on Derek's shoulder and baring the length of his throat. "I already know you're a possessive asshole. You'll have to work harder than that to scare me off." Lifting his hand behind him, he threaded his fingers into Derek's hair, using that grip to pull his head down beside Stiles' mouth. "Now, shut up and dance."

And they did, through countless songs whose words couldn't be heard, but all seemed to be set to the same steady rhythm that whispered of sex. Stiles and Derek were in a little world of their own, their bubble of privacy battered on all sides but never fully breached. Derek's hand on Stiles' hip moved them in a deliciously synchronized counterpoint as the fingers of his other hand dipped under the hem of Stiles' sweat-soaked shirt. Stiles' breath stuttered when Derek stroked the line of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.

Stiles gasped and pushed his ass back against Derek, the flashing lights and pounding bass of the club doing nothing for his control. Neither did the thick line of Derek's cock pressing against the crease of his ass with every slow roll of his hips.

A bead of sweat dislodged itself from Stiles' hair line and tracked lazily down the side of his neck, only to be intercepted by Derek's tongue. That, plus the rub of late-day scruff on the sensitive skin, made Stiles' knees buckle, right there in the middle of the dance floor.

His body had barely started to crumple when Derek caught him, strong arms turning him so they were pressed chest to chest and hip to hip. Dick to dick, _oh god_.

Stiles whined, thrusting against Derek, the heat and music and press of bodies all around them driving him right to the edge. "I'm... _Derek._ "

"I've got you," Derek growled in his ear, hands moving to grasp Stiles' hips and direct their movement into something more organized than the uncoordinated thrusting he'd lost himself to.

"I'm gonna...hnngh. Can't! It's rented. Tux. Oh god, Derek, we need to stop or I'll..."

"Do you need to go sit down?" Derek asked, his voice rough. "Get a drink?"

Stiles laughed, high and overbright. "Derek, look around. If we try to leave now, there will be _people_ grinding against me and..." He made a small, frustrated noise of complaint at the thought of _anyone_ else touching him in this state.

Somehow, without separating their bodies, Derek's hand was suddenly in his pants, wrapping something soft and silky over the head of Stiles' cock. "My pocket square. It's okay." Giving Stiles' dick a firm squeeze, Derek said, "Come for me."

With a last, helpless look at the couples surrounding them—none of whom were paying them the least bit of attention—Stiles wound his arms around Derek's shoulders and buried his face in Derek's neck. Thrusting two more times against Derek's trapped hand, he came, spurting into the pocket square and sparing a moment to hope any overspill would be absorbed by his underwear. He pressed his open mouth against Derek's throat, sucking on the skin there to muffle the noises he was making.

As Stiles came down from his high, he felt Derek shuddering against him. "Did you...?"

"No. Close, though, _god._. Just..." Derek managed to extract his hand and the sodden cloth from Stiles' pants without attracting any attention, even though the song had changed in the middle of Stiles' orgasm. "Zip up your pants."

Stiles nodded dumbly, forcing his fingers to obey him as he slid his hands between them. Tucking himself away and zipping up took his last functioning brain cell, so when Derek told him to go find a seat at the bar, Stiles just stumbled off the dance floor on wobbly legs.

It wasn't until the bartender was asking Stiles what he wanted to drink that he turned to find Derek...only to see him disappearing into the men's room. Stiles swallowed the gurgle that wanted to spring out of him at the thought of what Derek was going to the bathroom to relieve. He had half a thought to follow Derek, but knew by the time he wobbled that far on noodle-y legs, Derek would likely be done. "Coke, please," he rasped instead, turning back to the bartender.

" _What_ is taking you so long, Sugar?" a familiar voice called from over his shoulder.

Stiles startled and looked over, face splitting with a loopy grin when he saw Phoenix standing there in her long blond wig and sequined gown. "Phoenix! Queen of my heart! I didn't see you when we came in." He pushed himself up and grabbed her broad shoulders, pulling her close for a quick set of air kisses near her heavily made up cheeks.

"I had a show at another club. Now," she reached out and swatted Stiles on the arm before sinking onto a barstool next to him. "Stop changing the subject. That delicious piece of alpha male you've been keeping to yourself has the look of desperation lingering around him. Specifically, desperation for your tight little ass. So I will ask again. What in the name of my favorite pink dildo are you waiting for, Stiles sugar?"

Stiles, who was still trying to recover from 'just came; no brain', choked on his drink at her _alpha male_ comment. "Oh man, it's so messed up. So we've been dating for like, over two months, right?"

"Two months, and you haven't jumped on his bone yet? I am severely disappointed in today's youth."

"Pssht, you're like...ten minutes older than me," Stiles said, slipping effortlessly into the flirtatious banter that had marked their friendship.

"And that's why I love you best. Not just because I hope to someday make you my little drag-son."

Stiles' forehead wrinkled in mild confusion, and he looked her over. "Yeah, I do not have the grace to pull off those heels."

"Sugar, I don't mean letting you raid my closet! I'm talking about your daddy. You've been holding out on me. That man is a fine piece of—"

"Whoa. No." Stiles waved his hands, alarmed. "That's my dad. Please don't expound on your appreciation for his—"

" _Ass_ -ets?" Phoenix pulled out a compact to check her lipstick, pushing the tip of her tongue into her cheek as she side-eyed Stiles with a devious look.

Stiles dropped his head onto the bar with a thunk. "Ugh, yeah. That."

"Mmmm. Then give me something else to think about. Like why-oh-why you've been dating McScruffy Muffinbutt for two months and have yet to pop his cork."

"Is that, like, a kinky euphemism for...?" Stiles trailed off at the pointedly unamused look he was getting from Phoenix. "Yeah, right. Sorry. So anyway, I had no idea we were dating until last weekend. Man cannot communicate his intentions to save his soul. Doesn't matter. I figured it out, we talked, we're on the same page, and I totally want to date him back, right? But then finals were this week, so I couldn't devote the kind of time to...you know. And now." He sighed heavily. "We've messed around some, and he's..." Stiles made a brain exploding noise, at which Phoenix just nodded sagely. "I want to do so much more, but alas. Curfew."

"Then _why_ are you _here_?"

"Second first date. He brought me here for our first first date, but I didn't know at the time it was a date. I wanted to make it up to him; do it _right_ , you know? Because he deserves it."

"Stiles." Phoenix' voice dropped into a low, no-nonsense register. Leaning forward, she looked straight into his eyes and said, "Look. I like you, but you're overcomplicating this. Relationships are built on a hundred little moments. The big ones are great for storytime, but something tells me the two of you have enough stories in your book. What you need now is a happy ending."

Phoenix cut her eyes across the club to where Derek was coming back from the restroom, his gaze already settled on Stiles. "Any other time I'd be telling a sweet young thing like you to run from a big, dangerous man like that. But, Sugar, the way he looks at you? I'd give up my entire toy box for just _one night_ with someone who looked at me that way. With or without the wig and makeup. You do what you need to do. But don't live a life full of regrets." 

Stiles stared at her for a long moment before lunging across the table and planting a huge, smacking kiss on her lips, smearing the hell out of her lipstick in his enthusiasm. "Oh my god, that's like the best advice ever. I'm totally setting you up with my dad because you'd make a kick ass drag-mom. What time is it?" he asked, breathless with sudden excitement.

"It's time to lure your man out of here. And Stiles?"

Stiles chewed his bottom lip, dancing from foot to foot impatiently. "Yeah?"

Opening her purse, Phoenix pulled out a handful of sample packs of lube and a strand of condoms. "Safety first."

Stiles shoved the gifts into his pocket, left some of Phoenix's own lipstick on her cheek when he kissed it, and then turned, smacking into Derek's chest. He didn't have a chance to stumble backward before Derek's arm wound around him, holding him tight. 

"Miss Phoenix," Derek murmured in greeting, his tone easy and respectful as he took Phoenix's offered hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it.

Goddammit, could he _be_ more perfect?

"Mr Hale and Hearty. My, my. You two lovebirds have fun tonight. Oh...and don't worry about your young friends. We'll look after them. Now, get out of here."

Derek's forehead wrinkled in confusion, but Stiles just nodded eagerly, taking Derek's hand and yanking him toward the door. "Come on, come on!"

"What—?"

"Two hours 'til curfew; we have enough time if we hurry." Finally out of the club, Stiles shook off the ear-ringing silence of the street and got his bearings. The hotel, as well as Derek's Camaro, was to the right, but Derek's apartment was—

"You don't have to worry about curfew tonight. I talked to your dad and told him the pack had rooms at the hotel."

Stiles' eyes went wide, and he turned toward Derek in what felt like slow-motion. Suddenly, he remembered Derek's moment of weirdness at prom. " _That's_ what you thought I was talking about earlier?" Then, when it finally sank in, Stiles bounced on his toes and grinned. "Oh my god, do we really have a hotel room?"

Derek scratched at the back of his neck, looking fucking adorably bashful as he said, "Yeah. I mean, I got a whole block of rooms for the pack. I figured, you know, it was your last prom before everyone graduates and leaves for college, so..."

"Holy shit, you're seriously the best." Stiles stepped straight into Derek's space, wrapping his arms around him and brushing their mouths together. "The. Very. Best."

"Stiles," Derek said, the soft word underscored by a low whine.

Gulping down a renewed surge of _want_ , Stiles stepped back and threaded their fingers together. "Hotel," he said.

Derek just nodded and led the way, pulling a laughing Stiles eagerly down the sidewalk. As fast as they were walking, they stumbled through the doors of the hotel within minutes and bypassed the front desk.

Stiles made to turn toward the row of elevators, but Derek shook his head. 

"First floor," Derek murmured, then hitched his shoulder. "It's...easier to escape in the event of a fire."

Stiles made a low noise of agreement and squeezed Derek's hand, then thought better of it and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

Near the end of the hall, they stopped in front of a door. Derek withdrew his hand with a small quirk of his lips, patting his pockets for the keycard. Soon, the door was open, and Stiles saw a dark room with a large, central bed.

Just as he was about to step inside, Derek stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"This is your room. It has a connecting door to mine. If you're..." Derek's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "The door will be unlocked from my side. If you need anything."

Stiles tilted his head, staring at Derek with a small smile on his face. Warmth flooded him at the effort Derek was making to not push him. The completely unnecessary effort. _Idiot._ Leaning forward, he maintained eye contact with Derek as he fumbled for the door handle. Finally, he was able to get a good grip on it and pulled it shut with both of them on the same side. "There's nothing in there I want. If _you_ want or need me in there, all alone and horny, then just say the word and I'll go. But for my part? Yeah, you just wasted a ton o' money on a room that won't get used."

Eyes going bright with joy, Derek pulled Stiles into a tight embrace. His hands skated down Stiles' spine before they gripped his ass and lifted until Stiles could easily wind his legs around Derek's waist. "Not a complete waste," Derek said, his voice all growly and arousing. "Call it a noise dampener between us and the rest of the pack. You can be as loud as you want."

Stiles tossed his head back and laughed, which turned to a moan when Derek's mouth latched onto the long line of his throat. His half-hard dick filled further at the way Derek's mouth felt, hot and sucking, his stubble scraping Stiles' skin so deliciously. "Maybe you'll— _ahh_ —be the loud one. Ever think of that?"

Before Derek could respond, Stiles moved, sealing his mouth over Derek's and stealing any rejoinder he could have made. Stiles grunted when he was shoved against Derek's door, one of Derek's hands moving away from his ass to fumble at the door. 

"Don't break it," Stiles gasped against Derek's mouth.

Derek pulled away from their kiss to bury his face in Stiles' throat, dragging in several fast, ragged breaths. "Just...give me a minute. Card's in my pocket."

"That's not the only thing in your pocket," Stiles said with a devilish grin as he rolled his hips. A bolt of lust shot through Stiles when Derek whimpered, and his next hip roll was pure instinct. "Happy late birthday to _me_."

"Oh god, stop, or we'll never make it to the bed." Derek's hand was shaking so badly it took him three tries to swipe the keycard correctly.

When Derek finally got the door opened and stumbled inside, Stiles unhooked his legs from around Derek's waist and slid down to stand on his own. Pulling back a bit, he chewed on his lip and said, "So, uh. I know I basically invited myself over here and all, but... I just want to make sure you're okay with this too. Because—"

Derek stopped Stiles' flow of words with a sweet, slow kiss before pulling back himself. The only light in the room came from the dim red light of the smoke detector and the glow of street lamps that edged around the not-quite-shut curtains. So maybe it was the the way the dark room nearly blinded Stiles' human vision that made Derek comfortable enough to speak, or maybe he'd finally realized that not using his words hadn't exactly worked for them thus far.

"Stiles, I know you're worried that you're going to somehow hurt me, but honestly? You could rip my heart out of my chest, and it would be the kindest thing that's ever happened to me in a relationship. You know my past; you know it's true. But I trust you." He sighed, touching their foreheads together.

"That scares the shit out of me," Stiles admitted. "Your trust? If I ever break that? I don't..." He shook his head, his breathing suddenly ragged. The very thought of causing Derek more pain was like ice water in Stiles' veins. 

"That's how I know I _can_ trust you. Stiles, I don't know what forever looks like. I've never known anyone who had the luxury of forever. But I do know that if all we have is tonight, then I want it. Because tomorrow? The next evil thing might kill us all. And..."

"Don't live a life with regrets," Stiles whispered, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. Then, because he couldn't _not_ be an asshole when things got too heavy, said, "I can't believe you pulled out the 'soldier going off to war' card to get laid, dude. That's low. 'We might all die tomorrow, Stiles! Let me have this one last night of perfect love-making with mmmph!'"

They were kissing again, but both of them were laughing too hard for it to get too intense. 

"Okay, Hotass Hale," Stiles muttered against Derek's mouth, smacking him on the ass because, _dat ass_. "Turn on a light before I kill myself on a random piece of furniture."

Chuckling, Derek pulled away and went to hit the wall switch. "Hotass Hale?"

Blinking against the sudden brightness, Stiles grinned cheekily and said, "Would you prefer McScruffy Muffinbutt?" 

"I think I'd rather you just call me Harder Faster More."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles gestured toward the bathroom door. "Yeahhh, on that note, I'm just gonna..."

Derek popped the button on his trousers, his lips curving into an absolutely _evil_ smile as he slowly lowered his zipper. "Hurry back."

"Hnngh." If Stiles walked into the wall, that was no one's business but theirs.

After rushing through a quick piss and washing his hands, Stiles walked back into the room in just his undershirt and briefs, having left his trousers and vest hanging over the towel bar in the bathroom. In his hands, he held Phoenix's gifts.

He walked over to the bed, intending to make it rain condoms and lube, but what he saw stopped him in his tracks. A handful of rose petals were scattered over his pillow. He knew it was his, because Derek was using the other one.

Naked Derek. _Naked_ Derek was using the other pillow and teasingly fluttering his eyelashes at Stiles. There were no words for the perfection of Derek's body. Every part of him was hard, fit; not so much as a tan line marred the flawless lines of his body.

Stiles coughed weakly, shaking his head. "That...no. That is not fair, dude. For future reference, you can't just... _flaunt_ yourself and expect me to be able to function. Also, the rose petals!" He flailed, managing to spill most of the lube packets and all of the condoms on the bed while doing so.

"Stiles?"

"Hmmm?"

"Shut up and get in bed."

Stiles nodded, pushing his briefs halfway down his thighs before losing every bit of his composure and just pouncing on Derek. Derek helped him untangle from his remaining scraps of clothing and then they were together, naked, and hoshit.

"So I know we took the edge off like, I dunno how many minutes ago, but you're pretty much the thing I've trained Little Stiles to respond to best, so..."

"What? What does that even...?"

Stiles shrugged,wriggling against Derek. "When I want to get off quickly, I think about you. So this? Pretty much guaranteed to make me go off in like, three point five seconds."

"You think about me when you—"

"Dude. Seriously? Yeah. I'm pretty sure half of Beacon Hills thinks of you when they have happy alone time. You're kinda ridiculously hot."

Derek's throat bobbed. Voice hoarse, he said, "Show me."

"What?"

"Touch yourself for me."

Stiles pushed back, sitting up on his heels as he lifted an eyebrow. "Seriously? Just, I mean, I have all of you to touch. Why would I want to—"

" _Please._ " The way Derek's eyes flashed then was all too human, needy. And then he got really unfair and swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. "Besides," he said, his voice all breathy, "I'm pretty sure you can bounce back more than once."

Stiles shrugged and reached for a packet of lube. "True."

Derek groaned and lay back. He fluffed a pillow, then hooked one arm behind his head to give him a better angle from which to watch while he lazily stroked the other hand over his cock.

Deciding to make Derek regret all his life choices—or at least the most recent one involving asking Stiles to touch himself instead of, you know, getting all up in Stiles with his everything—Stiles ripped a corner off the lube and dripped it straight onto his cock. He dropped his head back, baring his throat and letting out a hiss.

"It's cold," he said, dragging the lube packet across his chest and squeezing the last of the liquid in a line between his nipples. He ran one palm over his cock; the other he smoothed up his chest, collecting the lube with his fingertips.

"When I really just need to come and I don't have time to linger over it, I imagine you over me, holding me down and just..." He shuddered, eyes closing as the familiar fantasy flashed across his mind's eye. His hand gripped his cock and he started fucking into it, his ass slapping down onto his heels. "Just _taking_ everything you want. Giving everything I need." Stiles twisted his oily fingers over a nipple, moaning at the flood of pleasure that small touch sent through him.

"But," he continued, slowing down his hand, his thrusts, "when I have all night? I think about this. You. Me. Opening me up slow and easy until I can't breathe for wanting you. Until you can't take the sound of me begging anymore and just..." He whined, sliding his hand down off his dick and circling his lube-slick fingers around his furled hole. He pushed one finger in, eyebrows drawing together at the insanely perfect feel of that first penetration.

The bed shifted under him, and he rolled his eyes open to see Derek fumbling for the lube packets. Stiles bit back a grin, keeping one eye on Derek even as he curled his finger, tugging against his rim and breathed out a slightly theatric, " _Derek._ "

"God, Stiles. Just... _god_ , your mouth." Derek's hand spasmed on the lube in his hand and the pressure popped it open, squirting lube all over the duvet. Swiping his fingers through it, he said, "Lay back."

Three more packets of lube were squeezed out onto his stomach before Derek seemed content, and as it warmed to his body heat, it began to drip down Stiles' sides. Derek ignored the overflow, just slicked up his fingers and pressed them against Stiles'. 

"Promise me," Derek looked up, his eyes wide and needy, barely any color left around his pupils, "you'll tell me if I hurt you."

Stiles almost threw out a flippant _you won't_ before he reconsidered. "Okay, I promise," he assured instead.

When Derek first began pushing in beside Stiles' fingers with one of his, he was too gentle. It was distracting and frustrating, _not enough_ when all Stiles wanted was _more_. 

"You can push harder. It's okay."

After a slight hesitation, Derek did and it was...Stiles' breath hitched. It was completely different, when it was someone else's finger. He felt it slide wetly against his, and felt it again, a deeper touch, more pressure than anything, in his ass. He moaned, his eyelashes fluttering even as he tried to maintain eye contact.

"More," he whispered, hips lifting into Derek's touch. "Please, Derek, more."

Fumbling a bit, Derek lined up another finger and slid it in. It was too much, too overwhelming, so Stiles removed his hand completely, using it to clutch at Derek's shoulder. His head hit the pillow, a low moan dragging from his throat. "God, god, just...gimme...minute." He breathed through it, calming himself even as he felt Derek stiffen and start to withdraw.

"Nononono! Stay. Please. Just...almost lost it there."

"It's okay," Derek said, shifting forward to nose at Stiles' throat. "You can."

Stiles shook his head. "Not without you. Please. Don't make me do this alone." He slid his hand from Derek's shoulder to the back of his neck, clutching at his hair.

"Okay. I promise. Together."

As reassuring as the words were, it was the fine shuddering of Derek's body that truly set Stiles at ease. Relaxing, he shifted his hips and said, "Okay, just...fuck me with your fingers. Slowly, or there won't be any hope for together."

Absolutely obedient, Derek did exactly that, slowly dragging his fingers out and then pressing them teasingly back in. On the third stroke, his fingers glanced across Stiles' prostate. It was horrible and awful and _completely fucking perfect_ and it wrecked Stiles in seconds. Shoulders and feet digging into the bed, he thrust his hips at Derek, a strangled whine building in the back of his throat.

"More, Derek, fuck. _More!_ "

"Fingers or...?"

"Everything!" Stiles demanded, eyes opening only to slam shut again when pleasure rolled through him.

Three of Derek's fingers, so much thicker than Stiles', was a stretch. It helped Stiles get back inside his head, pulled him together again. "Just a little more," he whispered shakily. "Another minute, and we can..."

"Stiles, I don't know...I've never...with a guy."

And Stiles knew. Of course he did. "It's okay," he said, smoothing his lube-sticky hand over the back of Derek's head. And then a thought hit him and he laughed, high and shaky. "Me neither."

Derek raised up, surprise widening his eyes. "But you know...?"

Stiles bit his lip and nodded, rolling his hips up. "So much porn. So very much porn, dude."

Grimacing, Derek went still. "Uh, you do know porn is not at all based in reality, right?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Duh. But if I saw something I liked, I tried it on myself. Well, if I could. Some stuff is so not doable solo."

Derek nodded, then leaned back to look at where his fingers were still slowly working in and out of Stiles' ass. "I know we said together," he swallowed, then licked his lips and dragged his gaze back to Stiles', "but I don't know how long I'll... You're really, mmm, tight. Just the thought of being inside you is making me crazy."

Stiles felt his lips slowly stretching with a grin. And incredibly, his arousal ratcheted higher at the knowledge that, as much as he wanted Derek, Derek wanted him equally as much. "Good." He flailed his hand out until he snagged the strip of condoms and ripped one off it before opening the foil packet with some difficulty. Fucking lube-slick fingers.

"Come here."

"Yeah, no, just hand it here," Derek said. "If you touch me right now? This will all be over."

That probably shouldn't make Stiles feel ridiculously pleased. But it did, so he handed over the condom with a stupid little smile. A stupid little smile that got even more stupid as he watched Derek slowly roll the condom one-handed down over his perfect fucking dick.

"Damn," Stiles whined. "That's... _Christ_ , Derek. Your cock is..." He licked a sudden bead of sweat from his lip. "After? I want to suck—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up. God, Stiles, you can't—"

Stiles' ass clenched around Derek's fingers as the pure _need_ in Derek's voice sent his arousal into overdrive. "Now now now, please, Derek!"

Derek hung his head, breathing ragged, before moving between Stiles' legs. His wrist crooked oddly as he kept pumping the fingers still inside Stiles, keeping him stretched open.

"More lube," Stiles panted, lifting one leg to brace his heel against Derek's shoulder.

Derek nodded, hand sliding through the pool on Stiles' stomach. His fingers skittered across Stiles' slick skin, his wrist brushing Stiles' cock, and Stiles shouted, his hips jerking as that sent fire surging through his veins. He was so close to coming, so close...

Coating his cock, Derek pushed the tip up next to his fingers. Slowly, he slid his fingers free and pushed the head of his cock inside.

It burned, and kept burning as Derek moved forward a heartbeat at a time. Gritting his teeth, Stiles growled, "Faster, dammit, get in me!"

Derek lowered his head, looking almost pained as he grabbed at Stiles' hips and thrust all the way in. Pain shot up Stiles' spine, dulling his arousal and bringing him back from the edge. He bit his lip and grabbed Derek's arm, digging his blunt nails into the skin.

"Okay, okay, gimme a..."

Derek nodded, chest heaving as he breathed harder than Stiles had ever seen. "So tight, Stiles," he said, his voice a wheeze of sound. 

Finally, Stiles felt like he wasn't going to rip in half, so he gave an experimental twitch and nearly came out of his skin. Okay, nope nope nope, not yet. 

Apparently he made a noise that communicated that to Derek, because Derek went rigid. "Stiles?"

"S'okay," Stiles slurred, feeling like all of his concentration was focused on his lower half, with no room left for word-ing. Or brain-ing at all. "Just. Ow, little bit."

Derek started to pull out, which made Stiles hiss furiously. "I swear to fucking god, if you even think about moving, I'll cut your balls off. Just...be still. For a minute. I'll let you know when you've got a green light."

They breathed through it together, Derek turning his head and pressing open-mouthed kisses to Stiles' calf. Somewhere in the back of Stiles’ head, the Jeopardy theme song started playing, which made Stiles laugh, which jostled Derek inside him and...oh. Oh shit. That? Was not burning and awful. Okay, it was a little burning, but also, kinda fucking amazing. 

"Green light, holy shit."

Stiles dropped his foot off Derek's shoulder, wrapping it around the back of his thigh and using it to urge Derek to move. It was uncoordinated and they kinda stuttered through it, hands slipping against skin and the lube making squelching sounds, but.

But the other bits were perfect, like the way Derek just made these low whining noises that went straight to Stiles' dick. Stiles bucked up into Derek, feeling the zing of Derek's cock rubbing over his prostate. Stiles urged _harder, faster, more_ until Derek was laughing and coming at the same time, and the feel of Derek going all stiff and still above and inside him pushed Stiles so close to coming. So close.

Stiles didn't, but he also didn't have time to feel neglected before Derek was sliding down and giving him a sloppy, languid blow job that was messy and wet and...fuck. Perfect.

v--v

"Stiles." 

Something tickled his ear, and he swatted at it with a muffled, "Nyuh."

"Stiles, wake up."

Another tickle. He cracked one eye open and turned to glare at Derek's stupid face and the stupid rose petal he was tickling Stiles' stupid ear with.

"Good morning, Star-shine, the world—"

"Okay, no." Stiles put on his most serious face. "That movie is about a man who lures children into his secret lair by promising them candy. It's Hansel and Gretel for the modern age."

"How is _Hair_ a Hansel and Gretel allegory?" Derek asked, throwing the rose petal in Stiles' wide-open mouth.

Spitting it out, Stiles scowled at the grin Derek wasn't bothering to hide. "How have _you_ seen Hair? I was talking about Johnny Depp in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

Derek raised a skeptical eyebrow, and then shrugged. "Mom liked it, so we watched it. Willy Wonka, huh? Yeah, okay, I can see it. Still, though. You have to get up. Your dad wants to meet the pack for brunch downstairs at 11. It's 10:15 now, and we still have to check out."

Stiles rolled over, wincing at the various aches that flared to life. "I hope he doesn't want me to _sit_ for brunch." Catching the look on Derek's face, Stiles threw a pillow at him. "You're supposed to feel guilty, asshole! Guilty, not smug!"

But Derek just laughed as he walked into the bathroom and started the shower. "I already called the others."

Stiles picked up his phone to check for missed calls, kind of ridiculously pleased that Derek had let him sleep in. A thought occurred, though, so he opened a new message and typed out a text. 

**Phoenix--Double Tree Dining Room. 11am. Brunch with my dad. No regrets. <3, Your future drag-son**

After he pushed send, he went to put his phone down only to start grinning wildly and snatched it back to him.

**Totally popped his cork. It was awesome!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8, the final chapter of BTB, will be posted on Wednesday.
> 
> The story has spawned a few others in the 'verse, so...Ta-da! It is now a series.


	8. No Movie (Or Place) Is Sacred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is. The final chapter of my first Teen Wolf WIP. 
> 
> I'd throw some celebratory confetti, but I just vacuumed.

"I graduate tonight." Stiles stared down at his mother's locket where it was nestled in a pile of downy cotton inside a shiny silver box. "Dad says you'd be proud, like I don't already know that. He still gets choked up, talking about you."

The sound of a car driving on the street out front made Stiles tilt his head, wondering if it was Derek or his dad, until it kept going past the house. "I think that's why I'm so scared of this thing with Derek. I don't know if I can live with that kind of grief again. And our lives, Mom, can be insane. But...I don't want to live with regrets, either. So. I'm going to stop getting in my own way."

He drew his finger along the thin chain, thinking of how it had glowed against his mother's skin. "I, uh. I'm going to bring him to meet you in a little while. Formally. If he'll come, and I think he will. But I wanted to talk to you first, just us. I want you to know he makes me happy. He won't always."

Stiles laughed. "We're really good at fighting. Not as much anymore as we did at first, but it'll happen again eventually. It's inevitable. When we do, though, we'll have amazing ways to make it up to each other. Aaand that's all I'm going to say about that. You're welcome."

A ragged breath left him; he picked up the top of the box, fiddling with it. "Two weeks ago, I couldn't have done this, and Scott thinks I'm going overboard. Like it's tit for tat or something." He swallowed and felt the comforting press of the Hale Amulet against his throat. "I don't have any mystical protection to offer him. But I've always felt closest to you like this, so I was thinking...maybe you could watch over him? When I'm not there to do it myself."

The rumble of the car this time was achingly familiar. He smiled and jumped up, looking out the open window to see the Camaro pulling into the driveway. "I'm not optimistic enough to think this is going to last forever. But I'm holding on with both hands and all ten monkey toes for as long as I can."

Sliding the box's lid over his mom's locket, Stiles ran his thumb over the messily scrawled _For: Derek_ on the plain white name tag. "Yeah."

He stuffed the box into the front pocket of his hoodie and ran down the stairs, pulling open the front door to see Derek standing there with his fist raised to knock.

"So, did you ever see that old movie? Sixth Sense?"

Derek just stared at Stiles, his eyebrows drawn flat across his forehead. It was neither puzzlement nor irritation, just an acknowledgement that he saw Stiles' lips forming words that eventually reached his ridiculously cute ears. "Hello to you too?"

Huffing a short sigh, Stiles went on. "It had Bruce Willis in it? And the big eyed kid? It was about a middle aged pedophile who targeted a, like, six year old kid and then, bam! Spoiler alert! The pedophile isn't just a creepy middle-aged man, he's a creepy middle-aged _ghost_ pedophile!"

" _Stiles._ "

"What?" Stiles couldn't help the small grin that split his face. Derek had sounded so _scandalized_.

"He was not a _pedophile_ , he was a psychiatrist—"

"Who had no other clients, a marriage that he spent so little time and effort on that he just assumed it had crumpled due to his own neglect, and he saw nothing at all off in his own behavior when he fixated on a _six year old boy_ to the exclusion of everything else in his life."

Derek's mouth opened and closed wordlessly before he finally snapped his jaw shut. Blinking, he lifted a finger to make a point before his hand dropped listlessly to his side. "Jesus Christ. Is nothing sacred? You're right. He was totally a pedophile."

"I don't know why you doubted me."

"True. You're always the first to figure out what the monsters are."

Stiles wasn't going to lie. He completely fucking melted at that. Having his genius acknowledged did things for him, dammit. "Anyway. I...actually, I have no idea where I was going with tha—oh wait! Yes, I do. So, you know how the poor little boy was all 'I see dead people'?" At Derek's nod, Stiles said, "Well, I talk to dead people. Uh. At the graveyard and... like, not zombies or ghouls or ghosts or anything you need to worry about. Just. Yeah, I was hoping to introduce you to my mom today?"

He didn't even have a chance to panic or hold his breath in anticipation before Derek was smiling softly at him. "Of course."

Because apparently, it was just that easy.

v--v

Stiles knelt in the soft grass and slightly-damp ground beneath it, brushing at the dirt that had accumulated on his mom's headstone. "Hey again, Mom," he said, then kind of plopped over onto his butt. It would be uncomfortable for a while after they left—wet jeans were the worst, but Stiles still had to change into a suit, so whatever—but Stiles had learned long ago not to kneel or squat when he chatted with his mom. Doing that usually ended up in dead leg.

Waving a hand at Derek, he said, "This is Derek. The one I've been telling you about. Say 'hi', Derek."

Derek shoved his hands in his pockets, looking adorably shy for a second before he cleared his throat and said, "Hi."

"Don't worry about it, Mom. He's a man of few words. And you're not allowed to be thinking anything along the lines of, 'do you ever shut up long enough for him to use them?' Because Dad already said that. Which you probably already know. Anyway... We're dating. I'm just gonna pause to let you get a good look at him and think about that."

And then Stiles did, although he allowed himself a smug smile while he waited. Because, even after all the fits and starts, _he_ was dating _Derek_. Aww, yisss.

"So, yeah," he said after what he deemed enough time for his mom to pick her spectral self up off the heavenly floor or whatever stunned spirits did. "Apparently we took just as long as you and Dad did to get on the same page. It's kind of depressing. I'll have to make sure any theoretical kid of mine gets a firm talk about dating and when it's happening to him or her."

"Please do," Derek muttered with a roll of his eyes. 

Stiles just ripped up a handful of grass and tossed it at him. "It would help, of course, if other people would use their words, but I digress. He's amazing, Mom. I irritate the ever-loving fuck out of him—"

" _Stiles_!" Derek hissed, looking frantically around the graveyard as if every corpse buried there was about to crawl out of the dirt to scold Stiles for his language. "You can't cuss in a cemetery. It's like...sacred."

Waving a lazy hand at him, Stiles tutted. "It's my mom, dude. She knows all the bad about me and loves me anyway. Plus, from what I understand, she was not above dropping the occasional f-bomb herself." Patting the flat stretch of grass above his mom's grave, he whispered, "Like a badass."

When Derek just pressed a hand to his face and shook his head, Stiles grinned. 

"Okay, so. Where was I? Oh, right. We're dating, and it's completely amazing, and yeah. Stuff. Anyway, mostly I'd just like to ask you not to peek in on us when we're getting it on. Because as smokin' hot as Derek is, and as much as I can appreciate the temptation to get an eyeful of those abs and that ass, that's too weird for me. So try to contain yourself, woman."

"Jesus, Stiles."

"Pfft, whatever. You love it." Stiles waggled his eyebrows at Derek, then patted his mom's grave again. "I know I usually stay longer, and there's a lot more I have to tell you, but I kinda need to cut this short today. We have a graduation ceremony in about two hours, and there are some people I need to talk to before then."

Standing, Stiles brushed his hands against his damp, dirty butt with a grimace before taking Derek's hand in his. "Bye, Mom. I love you."

Derek coughed once and whispered, "Bye, Mrs Stilinski."

Stiles tugged on Derek's hand, leading him deeper into the cemetery.

"Where are we going?" Then, with a choked off gasp, Derek said in a wrecked voice, "Stiles!"

In a rush to explain, Stiles blurted out, "About a month or so after the fire, after you and Laura left, I came here to talk to my mom. They'd just placed the marker. It was, uh, you know. New? So of course I had to investigate. As soon as I saw the family name, I knew who it was. The whole school had assemblies and counselors and all kinds of fire safety drills after what happened. But I also knew you and Laura were gone, so I... I'd come say hi. And I kinda made it a habit. Because..." He lifted his shoulder in a shrug, heart beating shakily in his chest because what if this was too weird? What if he'd overstepped a boundary?

Derek's hand convulsed in Stiles' and then Derek was spinning him around and just _holding_ him. His arms were wrapped so tightly around Stiles that it actually took him a moment to feel the small tremors that ran though Derek. 

"Thank you," Derek rasped into his ear. "Thank you for not forgetting them."

Stiles ran a hand up and down Derek's back, blinking back sudden tears. "You're welcome."

They stood like that, holding each other, for long enough that Stiles toes began to feel cramped from holding his body in a forward lean. Finally, though, Derek let out a shaky breath and said, "Just, please tell me you didn't cuss in front of my mom. She would not approve."

Grinning too wide and bright, Stiles just shook his head. "Oh ye of little faith. Other moms use me as a prime example of what their kids should aspire to be! They think I am _polite_."

"Heaven forbid."

"Right?!"

Stiles tucked his arm around Derek and guided them both to stand in front of the Hale Family marker. As far as he knew, none of them had been buried here, but the large, dark marble slab was as good a place as any to have a chat. Separating from Derek, he stepped forward, touching the smooth, glossy surface. "Hey again. It's me, Stiles."

As Stiles began greeting the family, from Mrs Hale, the alpha, down through the youngest child, he felt Derek press up against his back, strong arms sliding around his waist. He settled his own hands on top of Derek's, then got to the point of his visit.

"So. I know I should probably be asking Cora this, but. She really doesn't like me right now, plus she scares me, so she'd probably say no just to watch me suffer. But also, well. You were his alpha, Mrs Hale, and..." Stiles drew in a deep breath, leaning slightly into Derek for strength. "I kind of wrote the rules on this whole thing based on, like, vague references in old fables and more explicit ones in popular fanfic—"

Derek's chest was hitching against his back in a suspiciously chuckle-y way, so Stiles pinched the skin on the back of Derek’s hand in revenge.

"But since he was so good about following the rules of courtship when it was his turn, I guess it's only fair if I do too."

Derek's lips brushed his ear, sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "You did not tell us you found that shit in online porn—"

"Erotica, and hush. Talking to your mom, here." 

"No wonder I'd never heard of it before. I felt sure my dad would have mentioned it." 

Knowing Derek wouldn't be able to see it, Stiles grinned at the petulant quality of Derek's tone. "Anyway. Mrs Hale, I apologize for all the interruptions. What I came here for today was to formally ask your permission to court your son. I...care about him, so much. I know I don't have a lot to recommend me—"

"Shut up, yes you do. Mom, I've lost count of all the times Stiles has saved my life. He's so human, and so fragile compared to us—"

"Oh my god, you did not just call me _fragile_ , Derek, what the...heck?"

"He's smart, Mom. Smarter than the rest of us. And more loyal than I deserve. He makes me laugh."

"Well. I _am_ hilarious, I suppose. Also, stop interrupting." Clearing his throat, Stiles said, "I've been accepted into Berkeley and plan to study criminal justice. That might change, but... I don't intend to be a burden. From everything I've heard about you and Mr Hale, your relationship was a true partnership. That's what I want for us. I want us to complement each other, fill in each others' weaknesses with our own strengths until we're so strong nothing can break us."

Derek's arms tightened until Stiles couldn't breathe. Tapping on them, he just smiled when Derek relaxed his hold with a muttered, "Sorry."

"So, yeah, I'd really like your blessing." Stiles closed his eyes and leaned back into Derek, letting the warmth of the day seep into his bones.

Derek stirred behind him. "Should we...?"

"Shhh." He relaxed, listening for the sound of wind through the trees or something equally mystical. Really, it wouldn't take much. 

Suddenly a very faint howl reached Stiles' ears, and he stiffened in Derek's arms. "Holy shit," he hissed. "Did your mom just _howl her approval from the afterlife_?"

Derek's laughter overflowed into the quiet of the cemetery. "No, you dork. Pretty sure that was a dog from the neighborhood a few blocks over."

"Whatever." Patting the marker in front of him, Stiles said, "This heathen may not have faith in you, but I do. Thanks, Mrs Hale. You're the best."

As they walked hand in hand from the cemetery, Derek said, "I thought I was."

"What?"

"The best."

Stiles grinned and brought Derek's hand to his mouth, sucking a kiss onto his knuckles. "Apparently it's hereditary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, thank you to everyone who commented, kudo'd, bookmarked, and just READ this fic. I...cannot tell you what a joy it's been. I feel wooed. :D
> 
> Also, this epilogue is probably the fluffiest damn thing I've ever written. That little knuckle kiss at the end almost sent me into diabetic shock when I wrote it, but. Seriously. If any fictional character ever deserved a moment of pure fluff, it's Derek Hale. 
> 
> (Derek could sit at a bar with Harry Potter, Severus Snape, and...like, I dunno. Steve Rogers. And they'd be moaning about their miserable lives and all the people who've died, and Derek would just glare at them because, yeah. They don't know pain!)
> 
>  
> 
> (Okay, no, Steve Rogers probably wins for the whole "the entire population of the world died while I was sleeping" thing. But still. Derek's _pain_ , omg.)
> 
>  
> 
> If you enjoyed any part of this fic, hug a beta, especially mine.
> 
> <3,  
> Eey


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